1 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


TOM   BROWN'S   SCHOOL  DAYS 


/  /    / 

^THOMAS  HUGHES,Q.C.,M.P. 

/  (yin  Old  j8oy) 


J''^''  i'-^Vj^^i 


TOM  BROWN'S 


SCHOOL- DAYS 


BY    AN    OLD    BOY 
( ^//w/nas  Hu^Acs) 

WITH  NUMEROUS 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

MADE  AT  RUGBY 

SCHOOL 

IPUIS  RHEAD 

"WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 
W-D'Howells 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS 


'^   -i        ^Hi^*^        NEVX'    YORK    AND    LONDON         V  •••(/'■"''/ vv/'- ^ 


g?:3 


COPYRIGHT.    1911.    BY    HARPER    fir     BROTHERS 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED     STATES    OF    AMERICA 
PUBLISHED   OCTOBER.     1911 


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CONTENTS 


~  -  "■■-v:'"«-5u3£-:'^^s.-»~  I 


PART  I 


\ 


CHAP. 


PAGE 

ix 


Introduction  by  W.  D.  Howells 

Remarks  of  the  Illustrator xiii 

Preface  to  the  Sixth  Edition xvii 

I.  The  Brown  Family 3 

II.  The  Veast 21 

III.  Sundry  Wars  and  Alliances 44 

IV.  The   Stage-coach 68 

V.  Rugby  and  Football »     .     .     .  87 

VI.  After  the  Match 112 

VII.  Settling  to  the  Collar 134 

VIII.  The  War  of  Independence 158 

IX.  A  Chapter  of  Accidents      . 181 

PART  II 

I.  How  the  Tide  Turned ,    .  209 

II.  The  New  Boy .  224 

III.  Arthur  Makes  a  Friend 242 

IV.  The  Bird-fanciers 258 

[v] 


2073717 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

V.  The  Fight 276 

VI.  Fever  in  the  School 298 

VII.  Harry  East's  Dilemmas  and  Deliverances 319 

VIII.  Tom  Brown's  Last  Match 339 

IX.  Finis 365 


THOMAS    HUGHES,   Q.C.,  M.P 

RUGBY    SCHOOL — MAP    OF    BOUNDS 

THE  GREAT  SAXON  WHITE  HORSE  OF  KING  ALFRED  .  .  .  . 
BENJY  WOULD  INSTRUCT  TOM  IN  THE  DOINGS  OF  THE  DECEASED 

BROWNS 

THE    GYPSY    SCOWLS    AT   JOE 

THEY   GRAPPLED   AND    CLOSED   AND    SWAYED 

HE  WAS  CAUGHT  WITH  A  BOX  OF  PHOSPHORUS   IN   HIS  GUILTY 

HAND 

"good-bye,    FATHER — MY    LOVE    AT   HOMe" 

AWAY   WENT   TWO    BOYS    ALONG   THE    FOOT-PATH 

"and  HEARK  'eE,  COOEY,  it  MUST  BE  UP  IN  TEN  MINUTES,  OR 

NO    MORE   JOBS   FROM    Me" 

"get  UP  THERE — THERe's  A  LITTLE  FELLOW  UNDER  YOU"      . 

SET  TOM   TO   TOAST  THE    SAUSAGES 

TOM  TOOK  HIS  THREE  TOSSES  WITHOUT  A  KICK  OR  A  CRY  .  . 
WHO  WERE  ON  THE  LOOKOUT  FOR  THE  HOT-WATER  CONVOYS 
OLD   THOMAS    SAT   IN    HIS    DEN 

[vii] 


Frontispiece 

acing 

P. 

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88 
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128 
136 
152 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"are    you    much    hurt,    dear   old    boy?" Fac 

"it's  all  sham — he's  only  afraid  to  fight  it  out"    .     . 

"oh,  be  up  ther',  be  'ee  ?" 

"confound  you,  brown,  what's  that  for?"  .... 
"blest  if  you  ain't  the  best  old  fellow  ever  was"  .  . 
tom  shut  his  bible  with  a  slap 

"what   CAN    YOU    BE    ABOUT,    MARTIN?" 

"we    MUST  TRY   A    PYRAMID,"    SAID   TOM 

"OH,   there's    a   whacker!"    CRIED    EAST 

the  SLOGGER  IS  thrown  heavily  for  THE  THIRD  TIME  .  . 
"l    EXPECT   YOU    TO    STOP    ALL    FIGHTS    IN    FUTURE    AT    ONCe" 

TOM    PUT    HIS    ARM    ROUND    ARTHUr's    HEAD 

SHE    HELD    OUT   HER    HAND    TO   TOM     ......... 

THEY   JUMPED    UP   TO    SHAKE    HANDS    WITH    HIM 

EAST  FOLLOWED  THE   DOCTOR  AND  THE   OLD   VERGER      .      „      . 

IT   IS   TOM    BROWN,    GROWN    INTO    A   YOUNG    MAN 

TOM   WAS    BORNE    ALOFT    BY  THE    ELEVEN 

"your  old  MASTER,  ARNOLD,  OF  RUGBY,  IS  DEAd"  .  .  . 
"you've    HEARD   ALL   ABOUT   IT,    I    SEE  " 


ng 


P-  176 
184 
198 
218 
226 
236 
244 
262 
270 
288 
292 
302 

3H 
326 

334 
346 

360 
366 

37° 


INTRODUCTION  BY  W.  D.  HOWELLS 


IT  is  not  often  that  in  later  years  one  finds  any  book  as  good 
as  one  remembers  it  from  one's  youth;  but  it  has  been  my 
interesting  experience  to  find  the  story  of  Tom  Brown  s  School 
Days  even  better  than  I  once  thought  it,  say,  fifty  years  ago; 
not  only  better,  but  more  charming,  more  kindly,  manher,  truer, 
realler.  So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  note  there  is  not  a  moment 
of  snobbishness  in  it,  or  meanness  of  whatever  sort.  Of  course 
it  is  of  its  period,  the  period  which  people  call  Middle  Victorian 
because  the  great  Queen  was  then  nearly  at  the  end  of  the  first 
half  of  her  long  reign,  and  not  because  she  personally  charac- 
terized the  mood  of  arts,  of  letters,  of  morals  then  prevalent. 

The  author  openly  preaches  and  praises  himself  for  preaching; 
he  does  not  hesitate  to  slip  into  the  drama  and  deliver  a  sermon; 
he  talks  the  story  out  with  many  self-interruptions  and  excursions; 
he  knows  nothing  of  the  modern  method  of  letting  it  walk  along 
on  its  own  legs,  but  is  always  putting  his  hands  under  its  arms 
and  helping  it,  or  his  arm  across  its  shoulder  and  caressing  it. 
In  all  this,  which  I  think  wrong,  he  is  probably  doing  quite 
right  for  the  boys  who  formed  and  will  always  form  the  greatest 
number  of  his  readers;  boys  like  to  have  things  fully  explained 
and  commentated,  whether  they  are  grown  up  or  not.  In  much 
else,  in  what  I  will  not  say  are  not  the  great  matters,  he  is 
altogether  right.  By  precept  and  by  example  he  teaches  boys  to 
be  good,  that  is,  to  be  true,  honest,  clean-minded  and  clean- 
mouthed,  kind  and  thoughtful.  He  forgives  them  the  follies  of 
their  youth,  but  makes  them  see  that  they  are  follies. 

[ix] 


INTRODUCTION  BY  W.  D.  HOWELLS 

I  suppose  that  American  boys'  schools  are  fashioned  largely 
on  what  the  English  call  their  public  schools;  and  so  far  as  they 
emulate  the  democratic  spirit  of  the  English  schools,  with  their 
sense  of  equality  and  their  honor  of  personal  worth,  the  American 
schools  cannot  be  too  like  them.  I  have  heard  that  some  of  our 
schools  are  cultures  of  unrepublican  feeling,  and  that  the  meaner 
little  souls  in  them  make  their  account  of  what  families  it  will  be 
well  to  know  after  they  leave  school  and  restrict  their  school 
friendships  accordingly,  but  I  am  not  certain  this  is  true.  What 
I  am  certain  of  is  that  our  school-boys  can  learn  nothing  of  such 
baseness  from  the  warm-hearted  and  large-minded  man  who 
wrote  Tom  Brown  s  School  Days.  He  was  one  of  our  best  friends 
in  the  Civil  War,  when  we  sorely  needed  friends  in  England,  and 
it  was  his  magnanimous  admiration  which  made  our  great 
patriotic  poet  known  to  a  public  which  had  scarcely  heard  of 
James  Russell  Lowell  before. 

But  the  manners  and  customs  painted  in  this  book  are  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  the  middle  eighteen-fifties.  It  appears  from 
its  witness  that  English  school-boys  then  freely  drank  beer  and 
ale,  and  fought  out  their  quarrels  like  prize-fighters  with  their 
naked  fists,  though  the  beer  was  allowed  and  the  fighting  dis- 
allowed by  the  school.  Now,  however,  even  the  ruffians  of  the 
ring  put  on  gloves,  and  probably  the  quarrels  of  our  own  school- 
boys are  not  fought  out  even  with  gloves.  Beer  and  ale  must 
always  have  been  as  clandestine  vices  in  our  schools  as  pitched 
battles  with  fists  in  English  schools;  water  was  the  rule,  but 
probably  if  an  American  boy  now  went  to  an  English  school  he 
would  not  have  to  teach  by  his  singular  example  that  water  was 
a  better  drink  for  boys  than  beer. 

Our  author  had  apparently  no  misgiving  as  to  the  beer;  he 
does  not  blink  it  or  defend  it;  beer  was  too  merely  a  matter 
of  course;  but  he  makes  a  set  argument  for  fighting,  based  upon 
the  good  old  safe  ground  that  there  always  had  been  fighting. 
Even  in  the  heyday  of  muscular  Christianity  it  seems  that  there 


INTRODUCTION  BY  W.  D.  HOWELLS 

must  have  been  some  question  of  fighting  and  it  was  necessary  to 
defend  it  on  the  large  and  Httle  scale,  and  his  argument  as  to  fisti- 
cuffs defeats  itself.  Concerning  war,  which  we  are  now  hoping 
that  we  see  the  beginning  of  the  end  of,  he  need  only  have  looked 
into  The  Biglow  Papers  to  find  his  idolized  Lowell  saying: 

"Ez  fur  war   I    call   it   murder; 

There  ye   hev   it   plain   an'   flat; 
An'  I    don't   want  to   go   no   furder 
Then   my  Testament  fur  that." 

I  feel  it  laid  upon  me  in  commending  this  book  to  a  new  genera- 
tion of  readers,  to  guard  them,  so  far  as  I  may,  against  such  errors 
of  it.  Possibly  it  might  have  been  cleansed  of  them  by  editing, 
but  that  would  have  taken  much  of  the  life  out  of  it,  and  would 
have  been  a  grievous  wrong  to  the  author.  They  must  remain 
a  part  of  literature  as  many  other  regrettable  things  remain. 
They  are  a  part  of  history,  a  color  of  the  contemporary  manners, 
and  an  excellently  honest  piece  of  self-portraiture.  They  are  as 
the  wart  on  Cromwell's  face,  and  are  essentially  an  element  of  a 
most  Cromwellian  genius.  It  was  Puritanism,  Macaulay  says, 
that  stamped  with  its  ideal  the  modern  English  gentleman  in 
dress  and  manner,  and  Puritanism  has  stamped  the  modern 
Englishman,  the  liberal,  the  radical,  in  morals.  The  author  of 
Tom  Brown  was  strongly  of  the  English  Church  and  the  English 
State^  but  of  the  broad  church  and  of  the  broad  state.  He  was 
not  only  the  best  sort  of  Englishman,  but  he  was  the  making  of 
the  best  sort  of  American;  and  the  American  father  can  trust  the 
American  boy  with  his  book,  and  fear  no  hurt  to  his  republicanism, 
still  less  his  democracy. 

It  is  full  of  the  delight  in  nature  and  human  nature,  unpatron- 
ized  and  unsentimentalized.  From  his  earliest  boyhood  up  Tom 
Brown  is  the  free  and  equal  comrade  of  other  decent  boys  of 
whatever  station,  and  he  ranges  the  woods,  the  fields,  the  streams 

[xi] 


INTRODUCTION  BY  W.  D.  HOWELLS 

with  the  joy  in  the  sylvan  Hfe  which  is  the  birthright  of  all  the 
boys  born  within  reach  of  them.  The  American  school-boy  of 
this  generation  will  as  freshly  taste  the  pleasure  of  the  school  life 
at  Rugby  as  the  American  school-boys  of  the  two  generations 
past,  and  he  can  hardly  fail  to  rise  from  it  with  the  noble  inten- 
tions, the  magnanimous  ambitions  which  only  good  books  can 
inspire. 

W.  D.  HoWELLS. 


REMARKS  OF  THE   ILLUSTRATOR  ON 
PRESENT  ASPECTS  OF  RUGBY  SCHOOL 


MOST  young  readers  (and  many  old  ones)  read  a  book  for  the 
fun  it  contains,  taking  no  notice  of  the  time  when  written.  A 
boy  will  naturally  exclaim,  after  reading  the  following  pages, 
"What  a  fine  time  I'd  have  if  I  went  to  that  school!"  There  is  a 
difference,  however,  for  many  things  have  changed  during  seventy 
years  or  so.  If  you  remember,  Tom  started  before  daybreak 
from  the  Peacock  Inn  at  Islington  on  the  top  of  a  stage-coach; 
now  you  go  by  railway  train.  At  that  time  the  school  was  less 
than  half  its  present  size  and  held  only  a  quarter  the  number  of 
boys.  The  pound  of  candles  served  to  each  boy,  some  of  which 
Martin  used  to  sell  for  birds'  eggs,  is  no  more.  Electric  lights 
now  guide  the  many  feet  along  the  devious  study  passages  and 
winding  turret  stairs.  East  used  to  set  Tom  toasting  sausages 
before  the  great  fireplace,  but  it  could  not  be  done  now  over 
steam  radiators.  The  fireplaces  are  still  there,  but  stoutly  cov- 
ered over  with  wire  and  iron  bars.  The  fags,  among  their  pres- 
ent duties,  are  not  made  to  go  down  to  the  kitchen  to  get  hot 
water  for  their  lords  and  masters.  In  short,  modern  con- 
veniences have  replaced  the  primitive  ways  of  bygone  days. 

In  1842  lucifer  matches  had  just  been  invented.  Tea  and  coffee 
were  expensive.  It  was  the  custom  of  that  day  for  boys  (old  and 
young)  to  be  served  with  a  pewter  mug  of  beer  at  their  meals,  and 
boys  of  the  "Sixth  Form"  frequented  taverns  without  restraint. 
Old  traditional  customs,  in  an  ancient  institution  like  Rugby,  are 

[xlii] 


REMARKS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRATOR  ON 

hard  to  break.  Though  Doctor  Arnold  brushed  away  many 
objectionable  things  in  his  time,  yet  even  to-day  there  still  remain 
traces  of  the  old  order  of  things. 

The  most  interesting  is  that  of  the  school  bounds  with  which 
every  boy  soon  becomes  familiar.  In  the  early  days  Rugby  town 
(except  in  the  main  streets)  was  ill-protected  and  poorly  lighted, 
consequently  the  boys  were  molested  and  enticed  into  undesirable 
places.  Fights  were  frequent  with  the  town  boys,  or,  as  East  dubs 
them,  the  louts.  Out-of-bound  maps  were  placed  in  the  school 
and  other  houses  to  show  in  what  streets  the  boys  could  go.  In 
the  early  days  to  be  caught  out  of  bounds  meant  a  "birching"  or 
five  hundred  lines  of  Virgil. 

It  will  be  observed  that  all  boys  keep  on  the  east  side  of  High 
Street;  or,  if  cross  they  must,  they  cross  to  their  destination  at 
right  angles,  and  so  back  again.  As  they  go  back  to  the  house, 
each  keeps  on  the  side  of  the  road  where  his  own  house  stands. 
However  muddy  the  road,  none  but  a  "swell"  is  supposed  to  turn 
up  his  trousers  at  the  bottom. 

If  a  boy  is  in  his  first  term  he  must  keep  his  hands  out  of  his 
pockets.  If  you  see  a  boy  with  one  hand  in,  he  will,  perhaps,  be 
in  the  second  term;  after  that  both  may  be  put  in  the  pockets. 
The  duties  of  fags  are  less  irksome  than  once  they  were,  but  (such 
as  they  are)  strictly  exacted.  They  may  be  called  to  run  errands 
and  make  themselves  generally  useful.  The  house  fags  have  to 
"fag  out"  the  "dens"  of  their  superiors,  to  light  their  fires,  to  make 
toast  for  them  at  tea,  and  so  forth.  Is  any  errand  to  be  done,  the 
"Sixth  Form"  potentate  has  but  to  issue  forth  from  his  den  and 
shout,  "Fag!"  Immediately,  like  the  rats  of  Hamelin  City,  out 
rush  all  the  fags  of  the  first  term;  or,  if  the  word  be  twice  shouted, 
all  those  of  the  first  two  terms,  and  so  forth.  The  last  fag  in 
gets  the  job,  so  their  speed  may  be  imagined. 

The  old  "tuck  shops"  have  been  replaced  by  expensive 
pastry  and  fruit  stores  which  are  crowded  with  eager  buyers 
during   the  day  and  especially  after  football   prr  ^tice,  however 

[  xiv  ] 


PRESENT  ASPECTS  OF  RUGBY  SCHOOL 

sufficient  and  full  is  the  house  supply.  No  longer  do  the  boys 
go  down  to  the  "  Planks  and  Swifts"  on  the  River  Avon  for  summer 
bathing;  a  well-appointed  swimming-bath  is  quite  near  in  the 
close. 

Thus  it  is  that  most  of  the  old  customs  have  been  abolished  or 
died  out.     New  boys  are  no  longer  clodded,  cobbed,  or  chaired. 

In  regard  to  costume,  according  to  old  documents  and  prints 
the  boys  in  early  days  wore  white  ducks,  short  or  Eton  jackets, 
and  tall  hats.  To-day  the  costume  is  strictly  regulated.  The 
jacket  for  small  boys  is  longer,  or  what  is  known  as  the  Marlbor- 
ough jacket,  over  which  is  worn  the  broad  white  collar,  and  the 
bigger  boys  wear  a  cutaway.  All  are  in  black,  including  the  tall 
hat,  which  is  worn  at  the  present  time  by  young  and  old  on  Sun- 
days only.  Week-days  each  house  is  denoted  by  the  varied  colored 
caps  or  straw-hat  ribbons,  and  the  same  with  football  and  cricket 
costume. 


RECEIVED  the  following  letter  from  an  old 
friend  soon  after  the  last  edition  of  this  book 
was  published,  and  resolved,  if  ever  another 
edition  were  called  for,  to  print  it.  For  it 
is  clear  from  this  and  other  like  comments 
.  that  something  more  should  have  been  said 
J  expressly    on    the    subject    of   bullying,    and 


how  it   is    to   be   met. 


"My  dear  .  .  ., — I  blame  myself  for  not  having  earlier  suggested 
whether  you  could  not,  in  another  edition  of  Tom  Broiun,  or  another 
story,  denounce  more  decidedly  the  evils  of  bullying  at  schools.  You 
have  indeed  done  so,  and  in  the  best  way,  by  making  Flashman  the  bully 
the  most  contemptible  character;  but  in  that  scene  of  the  tossing,  and 
similar  passages,  you  hardly  suggest  that  such  things  should  be  stopped — 
and  do  not  suggest  any  means  of  putting  an  end  to  them. 

"This  subject  has  been  on  my  mind  for  years.  It  fills  me  with  grief 
and  misery  to  think  what  weak  and  nervous  children  go  through  at  school 
— how  their  health  and  character  for  life  are  destroyed  by  rough  and 
brutal  treatment. 

"It  was  some  comfort  to  be  under  the  old  delusion  that  fear  and  ner- 
vousness can  be  cured  by  violence,  and  that  knocking  about  will  turn  a 

[  xvii  ] 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  EDITION 

timid  boy  into  a  bold  one.  But  now  we  know  well  enough  that  is  not 
true.  Gradually  training  a  timid  child  to  do  bold  acts  would  be  most 
desirable;  but  frightening  him  and  ill-treating  him  will  not  make  him 
courageous.  Every  medical  man  knows  the  fatal  effects  of  terror  or 
agitation  or  excitement  to  nerves  that  are  oversensitive.  There  are  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  courage,  as  you  have  shown  in  your  character  of  Arthur. 

"A  boy  may  have  moral  courage  and  a  finely  organized  brain  and 
nervous  system.  Such  a  boy  is  calculated,  if  judiciously  educated,  to  be 
a  great,  wise,  and  useful  man;  but  he  may  not  possess  animal  courage; 
and  one  night's  tossing,  or  bullying,  may  produce  such  an  injury  to  his 
brain  and  nerves  that  his  usefulness  is  spoiled  for  life.  I  verily  believe 
that  hundreds  of  noble  organizations  are  thus  destroyed  every  year. 
Horse-jockeys  have  learned  to  be  wiser;  they  know  that  a  highly  nervous 
horse  is  utterly  destroyed  by  harshness.  A  groom  who  tried  to  cure  a 
shying  horse  by  roughness  and  violence  would  be  discharged  as  a  brute 
and  a  fool.  A  man  who  would  regulate  his  watch  with  a  crowbar  would 
be  considered  an  ass.  But  the  person  who  thinks  a  child  of  delicate  and 
nervous  organization  can  be  made  bold  by  bullying  is  no  better. 

"He  can  be  made  bold  by  healthy  exercise  and  games  and  sports;  but 
that  is  quite  a  different  thing.  And  even  these  games  and  sports  should 
bear  some  proportion  to  his  strength  and  capacities. 

"I  very  much  doubt  whether  small  children  should  play  with  big  ones — 
the  rush  of  a  set  of  great  fellows  at  football,  or  the  speed  of  a  cricket-ball 
sent  by  a  strong  hitter,  must  be  very  alarming  to  a  mere  child,  to  a  child 
who  might  stand  up  boldly  enough  among  children  of  his  own  size  and 
height. 

"Look  at  half  a  dozen  small  children  playing  cricket  by  themselves; 
how  feeble  are  their  blows,  how  slowly  they  bowl!  You  can  measure  in 
that  way  their  capacity. 

"Tom  Brown  and  his  eleven >  were  bold  enough  playing  against  an 
eleven  of  about  their  own  calibre;  but  I  suspect  they  would  have  been  in 
a  precious  funk  if  they  had  played  against  eleven  giants  whose  bowling 
bore  the  same  proportion  to  theirs  that  theirs  does  to  the  small  children's 
above. 

"To  return  to  the  tossing.  I  must  say  I  think  some  means  might  be 
devised  to  enable  school-boys  to  go  to  bed  in  quietness  and  peace,  and 
that  some  means  ought  to  be  devised  and  enforced.  No  good,  moral  or 
physical,  to  those  who  bully  or  those  who  are  bullied,  can  ensue  from  such 
scenes  as  take  place  in  the  dormitories  of  schools.     I  suspect  that  British 

[  xviii  ] 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  EDITION 

wisdom  and  ingenuity  are  sufficient  to  discover  a  remedy  for  this  evil,  if 
directed  in  the  right  direction. 

"The  fact  is,  that  the  condition  of  a  small  boy  at  a  large  school  is  one 
of  peculiar  hardship  and  suffering.  He  is  entirely  at  the  niercy  of  pro- 
verbially the  roughest  things  in  the  universe — great  school-boys;  and  he 
is  deprived  of  the  protection  which  the  weak  have  in  civilized  society,  for 
he  may  not  complain;  if  he  does,  he  is  an  outlaw — he  has  no  protector  but 
public  opinion,  and  that  a  public  opinion  of  the  very  lowest  grade,  the 
opinion  of  rude  and  ignorant  boys. 

"What  do  school-boys  know  of  those  deep  questions  of  moral  and 
physical  philosophy,  of  the  anatomy  of  mind  and  body,  by  which  the 
treatment  of  a  child  should  be  regulated  ^ 

"Why  should  the  laws  of  civilization  be  suspended  for  schools?  Why 
should  boys  be  left  to  herd  together  with  no  law  but  that  of  force  or  cun- 
ning .''  ^^'hat  would  become  of  society  if  it  were  constituted  on  the  same 
principles  ?     It  would  be  plunged  into  anarchy  in  a  week. 

"One  of  our  judges,  not  long  ago,  refused  to  extend  the  protection  of 
the  law  to  a  child  who  had  been  ill-treated  at  school.  If  a  party  of  navvies 
had  given  him  a  licking,  and  he  had  brought  the  case  before  a  magistrate, 
what  would  he  have  thought  if  the  magistrate  had  refused  to  protect  him, 
on  the  ground  that  if  such  cases  were  brought  before  him  he  might  have 
fifty  a  day  from  one  town  only  ? 

"Now  I  agree  with  you  that  a  constant  supervision  of  the  master  is  not 
desirable  or  possible,  and  that  telling  tales,  or  constantly  referring  to  the 
master  for  protection,  would  only  produce  ill  -  will  and  worse  treat- 
ment. 

"If  I  rightly  understand  your  book,  it  is  an  effort  to  improve  the  con- 
dition of  schools  by  improving  the  tone  of  morality  and  public  opinion  in 
them.  But  your  book  contains  the  most  indubitable  proofs  that  the 
condition  of  the  younger  boys  at  public  schools,  except  under  the  rare 
dictatorship  of  an  Old  Brooke,  is  one  of  great  hardship  and  suffering. 

"A  timid  and  nervous  boy  is  from  morning  till  night  in  a  state  of  bodily 
fear.  He  is  constantly  tormented  when  trying  to  learn  his  lessons.  His 
play-hours  are  occupied  in  fagging,  in  a  horrid  funk  of  cricket-balls  and 
footballs,  and  the  violent  sport  of  creatures  who,  to  him,  are  giants.  He 
goes  to  his  bed  in  fear  and  trembling — worse  than  the  reality  of  the  rough 
treatment  to  which  he  is  perhaps  subjected. 

"I  believe  there  is  only  one  complete  remedy.  It  is  not  in  magisterial 
supervision;   nor  in  telling  tales;   nor  in  raising  the  tone  of  public  opinion 

2  [xix] 


PREFACE  TO  THE   SIXTH  EDITION 

among   school-boys — but  in  the  separation   of  boys   of  different  ages  into 
different  schools. 

"There  should  be  at  least  three  diflFerent  classes  of  schools — the  first  for 
boys  from  nine  to  twelve;  the  second  for  boys  from  twelve  to  fifteen;  the 
third  for  those  above  fifteen.  And  these  schools  should  be  in  different 
localities, 

"There  ought  to  be  a  certain  amount  of  supervision  by  the  master  at 
those  times  when  there  are  special  occasions  for  bullying,  e.  g.,  in  the  long 
winter  evenings,  and  when  the  boys  are  congregated  together  in  the  bed- 
rooms. Surely  it  cannot  be  an  impossibility  to  keep  order  and  protect 
the  weak  at  such  times.  Whatever  evils  might  arise  from  supervision, 
they  could  hardly  be  greater  than  those  produced  by  a  system  which 
divides  boys  into  despots  and  slaves. 

"Ever  yours,  very  truly,  F.  D. 


>> 


The  question  of  how  to  adapt  English  public-school  education 
to  nervous  and  sensitive  boys  (often  the  highest  and  noblest  sub- 
jects which  that  education  has  to  deal  with)  ought  to  be  looked 
at  from  every  point  of  view.*  I  therefore  add  a  few  extracts  from 
the  letter  of  an  old  friend  and  school-fellow,  than  whom  no  man 
in  England  is  better  able  to  speak  on  the  subject: 

"What's  the  use  of  sorting  the  boys  by  ages,  unless  you  do  so  by  strength; 
and  who  are  often  the  real  bullies  ?^the  strong  young  dog  of  fourteen; 
while  the  victim  may  be  one  year  or  two  years  older.  ...  I  deny  the  fact 
about  the  bedrooms;  there  is  trouble  at  times,  and  always  will  be;  but  so 
there  is  in  nurseries — my  little  girl,  who  looks  like  an  angel,  was  bullying 
the  smallest  twice  to-day. 

"Bullying  must  be  fought  with  in  other  ways — by  getting  not  only  the 
Sixth  to  put  it  down,  but  the  lower  fellows  to  scorn  it,  and  by  eradicating 

*  For  those  who  believe  with  me  in  public-school  education,  the  fact  stated 
in  the  following  extract  from  a  note  of  Mr.  G.  de  Bunsen  will  be  hailed  with 
pleasure,  especially  now  that  our  alliance  with  Prussia  (the  most  natural  and 
healthy  European  alliance  for  Protestant  England)  is  likely  to  be  so  much 
stronger  and  deeper  than  heretofore.  Speaking  of  this  book,  he  says:  "The 
author  is  mistaken  in  saying  that  public  schools,  in  the  English  sense,  are  peculiar 
to  England.  Schul  Pforte  (in  the  Prussian  province  of  Saxony)  is  similar  in 
antiquity  and  institution.  I  like  his  book  all  the  more  for  having  been  there 
for  five  years." 

[XX] 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  EDITION 

mercilessly  the  incorrigible;  and  a  master  who  really  cares  for  his  fellows 
is  pretty  sure  to  know  instinctively  who  in  his  house  are  likely  to  be  bullied, 
and,  knowing  a  fellow  to  be  really  victimized  and  harassed,  I  am  sure  that 
he  can  stop  it  if  he  is  resolved.  There  are  many  kinds  of  annoyance — 
sometimes  of  real  cutting  persecution  for  righteousness'  sake — that  he 
can't  stop;  no  more  could  all  the  ushers  in  the  world;  but  he  can  do  very 
much  in  many  ways  to  make  the  shafts  of  the  wicked  pointless. 

"But  though,  for  quite  other  reasons,  I  don't  like  to  see  very  young  boys 
launched  at  a  public  school,  and  though  I  don't  deny  (I  wish  I  could)  the 
existence  from  time  to  time  of  bullying,  I  deny  its  being  a  constant  condi- 
tion of  school  life,  and,  still  more,  the  possibility  of  meeting  it  by  the  means 
proposed.  «  c  , 

"I  don't  wish  to  understate  the  amount  of  bullying  that  goes  on,  but 
my  conviction  is  that  it  must  be  fought,  like  all  school  evils,  but  it  more 
than  any,  by  dynamics  rather  than  mechanics,  by  getting  the  fellows  to 
respect  themselves  and  one  another,  rather  than  by  sitting  by  them  with 
a  thick  sticko" 

And  now,  having  broken  my  resolution  never  to  write  a  Pref- 
ace, there  are  just  two  or  three  things  which  I  should  like  to  say 
a  word  about. 

Several  persons,  for  whose  judgment  I  have  the  highest  respect, 
while  saying  very  kind  things  about  this  book,  have  added  that 
the  great  fault  of  it  is  '*too  much  preaching";  but  they  hope  I 
shall  amend  in  this  matter  should  I  ever  write  again.  Now  this 
I  most  distinctly  decline  to  do.  Why,  my  whole  object  in  writing 
at  all  was  to  get  the  chance  of  preaching.  When  a  man  comes  to 
my  time  of  life  and  has  his  bread  to  make,  and  very  little  time  to 
spare,  is  it  likely  that  he  will  spend  almost  the  whole  of  his  yearly 
vacation  in  writing  a  story  just  to  amuse  people  ?  I  think  not. 
At  any  rate,  I  wouldn't  do  so  myself. 

The  fact  is,  that  I  can  scarcely  ever  call  on  one  of  my  contempo- 
raries nowadays  without  running  across  a  boy  already  at  school, 
or  just  ready  to  go  there,  whose  bright  looks  and  supple  limbs 
remind  me  of  his  father  and  our  first  meeting  In  old  times.  I 
can  scarcely  keep  the  Latin  Grammar  out  of  my  own  house  any 
longer;    and  the  sight  of  sons,  nephews,  and  godsons,  playing 

[xxi] 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  EDITION 

trap-bat-and-ball,  and  reading  Robinson  Crusoe^  makes  one  ask 
one's  self  whether  there  isn't  something  one  would  like  to  say 
to  them  before  they  take  their  first  plunge  into  the  stream  of  life, 
away  from  their  own  homes,  or  while  they  are  yet  shivering  after 
the  first  plunge.  My  sole  object  in  writing  was  to  preach  to  boys: 
if  ever  I  write  again,  it  will  be  to  preach  to  some  other  age.  I 
can't  see  that  a  man  has  any  business  to  write  at  all  unless  he 
has  something  which  he  thoroughly  believes  and  wants  to  preach 
about.  If  he  has  this,  and  the  chance  of  delivering  himself  of  it, 
let  him  by  all  means  put  it  in  the  shape  in  which  it  will  be  most 
likely  to  get  a  hearing;  but  let  him  never  be  so  carried  away  as 
to  forget  that  preaching  is  his  object. 

A  black  soldier  in  a  West  Indian  regiment,  tied  up  to  receive 
a  couple  of  dozen  for  drunkenness,  cried  out  to  his  captain,  who 
was  exhorting  him  to  sobriety  in  future,  "Cap'n,  if  you  preachee, 
preachee;  and  if  floggee,  floggee;  but  no  preachee  and  floggee 
too!"  To  which  his  captain  might  have  replied,  "No,  Pompey,  I 
must  preach  whenever  I  see  a  chance  of  being  listened  to,  which 
I  never  did  before;  so  now  you  must  have  it  all  together,  and  I 
hope  you  may  remember  some  of  it." 

There  is  one  point  which  has  been  made  by  several  of  the  re- 
viewers who  have  noticed  this  book,  and  it  is  one  which,  as  I  am 
writing  a  Preface,  I  cannot  pass  over.  They  have  stated  that  the 
Rugby  undergraduates  they  remember  at  the  universities  were 
"a  solemn  array,"  "boys  turned  into  men  before  their  time," 
"a  semi-political,  semi-sacerdotal  fraternity,"  etc.,  giving  the 
idea  that  Arnold  turned  out  a  set  of  young  square-toes,  who  wore 
long-fingered  black  gloves  and  talked  with  a  snuffle.  I  can  only 
say  that  their  acquaintance  must  have  been  limited  and  excep- 
tional. For  I  am  sure  that  every  one  who  has  had  anything  like 
large  or  continuous  knowledge  of  boys  brought  up  at  Rugby  from 
the  times  of  which  this  book  treats  down  to  this  day  will  bear  me 
out  in  saying  that  the  mark  by  which  you  may  know  them  is 
their  genial  and  hearty  freshness  and  youthfulness  of  character. 
They  lose  nothing  of  the  boy  that  is  worth  keeping,  but  build  up 

[  xxii  ] 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  EDITION 

the  man  upon  it.  This  is  their  differentia  as  Rughy  boys;  and 
if  they  never  had  it,  or  have  lost  it,  it  must  be,  not  because  they 
were  at  Rugby,  but  in  spite  of  their  having  been  there;  the  stronger 
it  is  in  them,  the  more  deeply  you  may  be  sure  have  they  drunk 
of  the  spirit  of  their  school. 

But  this  boyishness  in  the  highest  sense  is  not  incompatible 
with  seriousness — or  earnestness,  if  you  like  the  word  better.* 
Quite  the  contrary.  And  1  can  well  believe  that  casual  observers, 
who  have  never  been  intimate  with  Rugby  boys  of  the  true  stamp, 
but  have  met  them  only  in  the  every-day  society  of  the  univer- 
sities, at  wines,  breakfast-parties,  and  the  like,  may  have  seen  a 
good  deal  more  of  the  serious  or  earnest  side  of  their  characters 
than  of  any  other.  For  the  more  the  boy  was  alive  in  them  the 
less  will  they  have  been  able  to  conceal  their  thoughts  or  their 
opinion  of  what  was  taking  place  under  their  noses;  and  if  the 
greater  part  of  that  didn't  s(juare  with  their  notions  of  what  was 
right,  very  likely  they  showed  pretty  clearly  that  it  did  not,  at 
whatever  risk  of  being  taken  for  young  prigs.  They  may  be  open 
to  the  charge  of  having  old  heads  on  young  shoulders;  I  think 
they  are,  and  always  were,  as  long  as  I  can  remember;  but  so 
long  as  they  have  young  hearts  to  keep  head  and  shoulders  in 
order,  I,  for  one,  must  think  this  only  a  gain. 

And  what  gave  Rugby  boys  this  character,  and  has  enabled  the 
school,  I  believe,  to  keep  it  to  this  day .?  I  say,  fearlessly,  Ar- 
nold's teaching  and  example — above  all,  that  part  of  it  which  has 
been,  I  will  not  say  sneered  at,  but  certainly  not  approved — his 
unwearied  zeal  in  creating  "moral  thoughtfulness"  in  every  boy 
with  whom  he  came  into  personal  contact. 

He  certainly  did  teach  us — thank  God  for  it! — that  we  could 
not  cut  our  life  into  slices  and  say,  "In  this  slice  your  actions  are 
indifferent,  and  you  needn't  trouble  your  heads  about  them  one 
way  or  another;  but  in  this  slice  mind  what  you  are  about,  for 
they  are  important" — a  pretty  muddle  we  should  have  been  in 

*  "  To  him  (Arnold)  and  liis  admirers  we  owe  the  substitution  of  the  word 
'earnest '  for  its  predecessor  '  serious.'  " — Edinburgh  Review,  No.  217,  p.  183. 

[  xxiii  ] 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  EDITION 

had  he  done  so.  He  taught  us  that  in  this  wonderful  world  no 
boy  or  man  can  tell  which  of  his  actions  is  indifferent  and  which 
not;  that  by  a  thoughtless  word  or  look  we  may  lead  astray  a 
brother  for  whom  Christ  died.  He  taught  us  that  life  is  a  whole, 
made  up  of  actions  and  thoughts  and  longings,  great  and  small, 
noble  and  ignoble;  therefore  the  only  true  wisdom  for  boy  or 
man  is  to  bring  the  whole  life  into  obedience  to  Him  whose  world 
we  live  in,  and  who  has  purchased  us  with  His  blood;  and  that 
whether  we  eat  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  we  do,  we  are  to  do  all  in 
His  name  and  to  His  glory;  in  such  teaching,  faithfully,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  following  that  of  Paul  of  Tarsus,  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  meaning  what  he  said,  and  who  laid  down  this  standard 
for  every  man  and  boy  in  his  time.  I  think  it  lies  with  those  who 
say  that  such  teaching  will  not  do  for  us  now  to  show  why  a 
teacher  in  the  nineteenth  century  is  to  preach  a  lower  standard 
than  one  in  the  first. 

However,  I  won't  say  that  the  reviewers  have  not  a  certain 
plausible  ground  for  their  dicta.  For  a  short  time  after  a  boy 
has  taken  up  such  a  life  as  Arnold  would  have  urged  upon  him, 
he  has  a  hard  time  of  it.  He  finds  his  judgment  often  at  fault, 
his  body  and  intellect  running  away  with  him  into  all  sorts  of  pit- 
falls, and  himself  coming  down  with  a  crash.  The  more  seriously 
he  buckles  to  his  work  the  oftener  these  mischances  seem  to  hap- 
pen; and  in  the  dust  of  his  tumbles  and  struggles,  unless  he  is  a 
very  extraordinary  boy,  he  may  often  be  too  severe  on  his  com- 
rades, may  think  he  sees  evil  in  things  innocent,  may  give  offence 
when  he  never  meant  it.  At  this  stage  of  his  career,  I  take  it, 
our  reviewer  comes  across  him,  and,  not  looking  below  the  surface 
(as  a  reviewer  ought  to  do),  at  once  sets  the  poor  boy  down  for 
a  prig  and  a  Pharisee,  when  in  all  likelihood  he  is  one  of  the  hum- 
blest and  truest  and  most  childlike  of  the  reviewer's  acquaintance. 

But  let  our  reviewer  come  across  him  again  in  a  year  or  two, 
when  the  "thoughtful  life"  has  become  habitual  to  him,  and  fits 
him  as  easily  as  his  skin;  and,  if  he  be  honest,  I  think  he  will  see 
cause  to  reconsider  his  judgment.     For  he  will  find  the  boy, 

[  xxiv  ] 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  EDITION 

grown  into  a  man,  enjoying  every-day  life  as  no  man  can  who  has 
not  found  out  whence  comes  the  capacity  for  enjoyment,  and  who 
is  the  Giver  of  the  least  of  the  good  things  of  this  world — humhle, 
as  no  man  can  be  who  has  not  proved  his  own  powerlessness  to  do 
right  in  the  smallest  act  which  he  ever  had  to  do — tolerant,  as  no 
man  can  be  who  does  not  live  daily  and  hourly  in  the  knowledge 
of  how  Perfect  Love  is  forever  about  his  path,  and  bearing  with 
and  upholding  him. 


PART    I 


TOM    BROWN'S 
SCHOOL    DAYS 


THE    BROWN    FAMILY 

"  I'm   the   Poet  of  White  Horse  Vale,  sir, 
With  hberal   notions   under  my   cap." 

— Ballad. 

HE  Browns  have  become  illustrious  by  the  pen 
of  Thackeray  and  the  pencil  of  Doyle  within 
the  memory  of  the  young  gentlemen  who  are 
now  matriculating  at  the  universities.  Not- 
withstanding the  well-merited  but  late  fame 
which  has  now  fallen  upon  them,  any  one  at 
all  acquainted  with  the  family  must  feel  that 
much  has  yet  to  be  written  and  said  before  the  British  nation  will 
be  properly  sensible  of  how  much  of  its  greatness  it  owes  to  the 

[3] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Browns.  For  centuries,  in  their  quiet,  dogged,  homespun  way, 
they  have  been  subduing  the  earth  in  most  EngHsh  counties,  and 
leaving  their  mark  in  American  forests  and  AustraHan  uplands. 
Wherever  the  fleets  and  armies  of  England  have  won  renown, 
there  stalwart  sons  of  the  Browns  have  done  yeoman's  work. 
With  the  yew  bow  and  cloth-yard  shaft  at  Cressy  and  Agincourt — 
with  the  brown  bill  and  pike  under  the  brave  Lord  Willoughby — 
with  culverin  and  demi-culverin  against  Spaniards  and  Dutchmen 
— with  hand-grenade  and  sabre,  and  musket  and  bayonet,  under 
Rodney  and  St.  Vincent,  Wolfe  and  Moore,  Nelson  and  Welling- 
ton, they  have  carried  their  lives  in  their  hands;  getting  hard 
knocks  and  hard  work  in  plenty,  which  was  on  the  whole  what 
they  looked  for,  and  the  best  thing  for  them;  and  little  praise  or 
pudding,  which  indeed  they  and  most  of  us  are  better  without. 
Talbots  and  Stanleys,  St.  Maurs,  and  such-like  folk,  have  led 
armies  and  made  laws  time  out  of  mind;  but  those  noble  families 
would  be  somewhat  astounded — if  the  accounts  ever  came  to  be 
fairly  taken — to  find  how  small  their  work  for  England  has  been 
by  the  side  of  that  of  the  Browns. 

These  latter,  indeed,  have  until  the  present  generation  rarely 
been  sung  by  poet  or  chronicled  by  sage.  They  have  wanted 
their  "sacer  vates,"  having  been  too  solid  to  rise  to  the  top  by 
themselves,  and  not  having  been  largely  gifted  with  the  talent  of 
catching  hold  of,  and  holding  on  tight  to,  whatever  good  things 
happened  to  be  going — the  foundation  of  the  fortunes  of  so  many 
noble  families.  But  the  world  goes  on  its  way,  and  the  wheel 
turns,  and  the  wrongs  of  the  Browns,  like  other  wrongs,  seem  in  a 
fair  way  to  get  righted.  And  this  present  writer  having  for  many 
ye^rs  of  his  life  been  a  devout  Brown-worshipper,  and,  moreover, 
having  the  honor  of  being  nearly  connected  with  an  eminently 
respectable  branch  of  the  great  Brown  family,  is  anxious,  so  far 
as  in  him  lies,  to  help  the  wheel  over  and  throw  his  stone  onto 
the  pile. 

However,  gentle  reader,  or  simple  reader,  whichever  you  may 

[4l 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

be,  lest  you  should  be  led  to  waste  your  precious  time  upon  these 
pages,  I  make  so  bold  as  at  once  to  tell  you  the  sort  of  folk  you'll 
have  to  meet  and  put  up  with,  if  you  and  I  are  to  jog  on  com- 
fortably together.  You  shall  hear  at  once  what  sort  of  folk  the 
Browns  are,  at  least  my  branch  of  them;  and  then  if  you  don't 
like  the  sort,  why,  cut  the  concern  at  once,  and  let  you  and  I  cry 
quits  before  either  of  us  can  grumble  at  the  other. 

In  the  first  place,  the  Browns  are  a  fighting  family.  One  may 
question  their  wisdom  or  wit  or  beauty,  but  about  their  fight 
there  can  be  no  question.  Wherever  hard  knocks  of  any  kind, 
visible  or  invisible,  are  going,  there  the  Brown  who  is  nearest 
must  shove  in  his  carcass.  And  these  carcasses  for  the  most  part 
answer  very  well  to  the  characteristic  propensity;  they  are  a 
square-headed  and  snake-necked  generation,  broad  in  the  shoul- 
der, deep  in  the  chest,  and  thin  in  the  flank,  carrying  no  lumber. 
Then,  for  clanship,  they  are  as  bad  as  Highlanders;  it  is  amazing 
the  belief  they  have  in  one  another.  With  them  there  is  nothing 
like  the  Browns,  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation.  "Blood  is 
thicker  than  water"  is  one  of  their  pet  sayings.  They  can't  be 
happy  unless  they  are  always  meeting  one  another.  Never  were 
such  people  for  family  gatherings,  which,  were  you  a  stranger,  or 
sensitive,  you  might  think  had  better  not  have  been  gathered 
together.  For  during  the  whole  time  of  their  being  together  they 
luxuriate  in  telling  one  another  their  minds  on  whatever  subject 
turns  up;  and  their  minds  are  wonderfully  antagonistic,  and  all 
their  opinions  are  downright  beliefs.  Till  you've  been  among 
them  some  time  and  understand  them,  you  can't  think  but  that 
they  are  quarrelling.  Not  a  bit  of  it;  they  love  and  respect  one 
another  ten  times  the  more  after  a  good  set  family  arguing  bout, 
and  go  back,  one  to  his  curacy,  another  to  his  chambers,  and 
another  to  his  regiment,  freshened  for  work  and  more  than  ever 
convinced  that  the  Browns  are  the  height  of  company. 

This  family  training,  too,  combined  with  their  turn  for  com- 
bativeness,  makes  them  eminently  quixotic.     They  can't  let  any- 

[5] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

thing  alone  which  they  think  going  wrong.  They  must  speak 
their  mind  about  it,  annoying  all  easy-going  folk;  and  spend  their 
time  and  money  in  having  a  tinker  at  it,  however  hopeless  the 
job.  It  is  an  impossibility  to  a  Brown  to  leave  the  most  disrepu- 
table lame  dog  on  the  other  side  of  a  stile.  Most  other  folk  get 
tired  of  such  work.  The  old  Browns,  with  red  faces,  white 
whiskers,  and  bald  heads,  go  on  believing  and  fighting  to  a  green 
old  age.  They  have  always  a  crotchet  going,  till  the  old  man 
with  the  scythe  reaps  and  garners  them  away  for  troublesome 
old  boys  as  they  are. 

And  the  most  provoking  thing  is  that  no  failures  knock  them 
up  or  make  them  hold  their  hands,  or  think  you,  or  me,  or  other 
sane  people  in  the  right.  Failures  slide  off  them  like  July  rain 
off  a  duck's  back  feathers.  Jem  and  his  whole  family  turn  out 
bad,  and  cheat  them  one  week,  and  the  next  they  are  doing  the 
same  thing  for  Jack;  and  when  he  goes  to  the  treadmill,  and 
his  wife  and  children  to  the  workhouse,  they  will  be  on  the  look- 
out for  Bill  to  take  his  place. 

However,  it  is  time  for  us  to  get  from  the  general  to  the  par- 
ticular; so,  leaving  the  great  army  of  Browns,  who  are  scattered 
over  the  whole  empire  on  which  the  sun  never  sets,  and  whose 
general  diffusion  I  take  to  be  the  chief  cause  of  that  empire's 
stability,  let  us  at  once  fix  our  attention  upon  the  small  nest  of 
Browns  in  which  our  hero  was  hatched,  and  which  dwelt  in  that 
portion  of  the  royal  county  of  Berks  which  is  called  the  Vale  of 
White  Horse. 

Most  of  you  have  probably  travelled  down  the  Great  Western 
Railway  as  far  as  Swindon.  Those  of  you  who  did  so  with  their 
eyes  open  have  been  aware,  soon  after  leaving  the  Didcot  station, 
of  a  fine  range  of  chalk  hills  running  parallel  with  the  railway  on 
the  left-hand  side  as  you  go  down  and  distant  some  two  or  three 
miles,  more  or  less,  from  the  line.  The  highest  point  in  the  range 
is  the  White  Horse  Hill,  which  you  come  in  front  of  just  before 
you  stop  at  the  Shrivenham  station.     If  you  love  English  scenery, 

[6] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

and  have  a  few  hours  to  spare,  you  can't  do  better,  the  next  time 
you  pass,  than  stop  at  the  Farringdon-road  or  Shrivenham  station 
and  make  your  way  to  that  highest  point.  And  those  who  care 
for  the  vague  old  stories  that  haunt  country-sides  all  about  Eng- 
land will  not,  if  they  are  wise,  be  content  with  only  a  few  hours' 
stay;  for,  glorious  as  the  view  is,  the  neighborhood  is  yet  more 
interesting  for  its  relics  of  bygone  times.  I  only  know  two  English 
neighborhoods  thoroughly,  and  in  each,  within  a  circle  of  five 
miles,  there  is  enough  of  interest  and  beauty  to  last  any  reasonable 
man  his  life.  I  believe  this  to  be  the  case  almost  throughout  the 
country;  but  each  has  a  special  attraction,  and  none  can  be  richer 
than  the  one  I  am  speaking  of  and  going  to  introduce  you  to  very 
particularly;  for  on  this  subject  I  must  be  prosy;  so  those  that 
don't  care  for  England  in  detail  may  skip  the  chapter. 

O  young  England!  young  England!  You  who  are  born  into 
these  racing  railroad  times,  when  there's  a  Great  Exhibition,  or 
some  monster  sight,  every  year,  and  you  can  get  over  a  couple 
of  thousand  miles  of  ground  for  three  pound  ten  in  a  five  weeks' 
holiday,  why  don't  you  know  more  of  your  own  birthplaces  .? 
You're  all  in  the  ends  of  the  earth,  it  seems  to  me,  as  soon  as  you 
get  your  necks  out  of  the  educational  collar,  for  midsummer  holi- 
days, long  vacations,  or  what  not.  Going  round  Ireland,  with  a 
return  ticket,  in  a  fortnight;  dropping  your  copies  of  Tennyson 
on  the  tops  of  Swiss  mountains;  or  pulling  down  the  Danube  in 
Oxford  racing-boats.  And  when  you  get  home  for  a  quiet  fort- 
night you  turn  the  steam  off  and  lie  on  your  backs  in  the  paternal 
garden,  surrounded  by  the  last  batch  of  books  from  Mudie's 
Library,  and  half  bored  to  death.  Well,  well!  I  know  it  has  its 
good  side.  You  all  patter  French  more  or  less,  and  perhaps  Ger- 
man; you  have  seen  men  and  cities,  no  doubt,  and  have  your 
opinions,  such  as  they  are,  about  schools  of  painting,  high  art, 
and  all  that;  have  seen  the  pictures  at  Dresden  and  the  Louvre, 
and  know  the  taste  of  sour-krout.  All  I  say  is,  you  don't  know 
your  own  lanes  and  woods  and  fields.     Though  you  may  be  chock- 

[7] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

full  of  science,  not  one  in  twenty  of  you  knows  where  to  find  the 
wood-sorrel  or  bee-orchis  which  grows  in  the  next  wood  or  on  the 
down  three  miles  off,  or  what  the  bog-bean  and  wood-sage  are 
good  for.  And  as  for  the  country  legends,  the  stories  of  the  old 
gable-ended  farm-houses,  the  place  where  the  last  skirmish  was 
fought  in  the  civil  wars,  where  the  parish  butts  stood,  where  the 
last  highwayman  turned  to  bay,  where  the  last  ghost  was  laid  by 
the  parson,  they're  gone  out  of  date  altogether. 

Now,  in  my  time,  when  we  got  home  by  the  old  coach  which 
put  us  down  at  the  cross-roads  with  our  boxes,  the  first  day  of  the 
holidays,  and  had  been  driven  off  by  the  family  coachman,  singing 
Dulce  Domum  at  the  top  of  our  voices,  there  we  were,  fixtures, 
till  black  Monday  came  around.  We  had  to  cut  out  our  own 
amusements  within  a  walk  or  ride  of  home.  And  so  we  got  to 
know  all  the  country  folk,  and  their  ways  and  songs  and  stories 
by  heart,  and  went  over  the  fields  and  woods  and  hills  again 
and  again  till  we  made  friends  of  them  all.  We  were  Berkshire, 
or  Gloucestershire,  or  Yorkshire  boys,  and  you're  young  cosmop- 
olites, belonging  to  all  countries  and  no  countries.  No  doubt 
it's  all  right — I  dare  say  it  is.  This  is  the  day  of  large  views  and 
glorious  humanity,  and  all  that;  but  I  wish  backsword  play  hadn't 
gone  out  in  the  Vale  of  White  Horse,  and  that  that  confounded 
Great  Western  hadn't  carried  away  Alfred's  Hill  to  make  an 
embankment. 

But  to  return  to  the  said  Vale  of  White  Horse,  the  country  in 
which  the  first  scenes  of  this  true  and  interesting  story  are  laid. 
As  I  said,  the  Great  Western  now  runs  right  through  it,  and  it  is 
a  land  of  large,  rich  pastures,  bounded  by  fox-fences  and  covered 
with  fine  hedgerow  timber,  with  here  and  there  a  nice  little  gorse 
or  spinney,  where  abideth  poor  Charley,  having  no  other  cover 
to  which  to  betake  himself  for  miles  and  miles  when  pushed  out 
some  fine  November  morning  by  the  Old  Berkshire.  Those  who 
have  been  there,  and  well  mounted,  only  know  how  he  and  the 
stanch  little  pack  who  dash  after  him — heads  high  and  sterns  low, 

[8] 


SCHOOL  DAYS 

with  a  breast-high  scent — can  consume  the  ground  at  such  times. 
There  being  Httle  plough-land  and  few  woods,  the  vale  is  only  an 
average  sporting  country,  except  for  hunting.  The  villages  are 
straggling,  queer,  old-fashioned  places,  the  houses  being  dropped 
down  without  the  least  regularity,  in  nooks  and  out-of-the-way 
corners  by  the  sides  of  shadowy  lanes  and  footpaths,  each  with 
its  patch  of  garden.  They  are  built  chiefly  of  good  gray  stone, 
and  thatched;  though  I  see  tliat  within  the  last  year  or  two  the 
red-brick  cottages  are  multipl)ing,  for  the  vale  is  beginning  to 
manufacture  largely  both  brick  and  tiles.  There  are  lots  of  waste 
ground  by  the  side  of  the  roads  in  every  village,  amounting  often 
to  village-greens,  where  feed  the  pigs  and  ganders  of  the  people; 
and  these  roads  are  old-fashioned,  homely  roads,  very  dirty  and 
badly  made,  and  hardly  endurable  in  winter,  but  still  pleasant, 
jog-trot  roads  running  through  the  great  pasture-lands,  dotted 
here  and  there  with  little  clumps  of  thorns,  where  the  sleek  kine 
are  feeding,  with  no  fence  on  either  side  of  them,  and  a  gate  at 
the  end  of  each  field,  which  makes  you  get  out  of  your  gig  (if  you 
keep  one),  and  gives  you  a  chance  of  looking  about  you  every 
quarter  of  a  mile. 

One  of  the  moralists  whom  we  sat  under  in  my  youth — ^was  it 
the  great  Richard  Swiveller,  or  Mr.  Stiggins  .? — says:  "We  are 
born  in  a  vale,  and  must  take  the  consequences  of  being  found  in 
such  a  situation."  These  consequences,  I,  for  one,  am  ready  to 
encounter.  I  pity  people  who  weren't  born  in  a  vale.  I  don't 
mean  a  flat  country,  but  a  vale — that  is,  a  flat  country  bounded 
by  hills.  The  having  your  hill  always  in  view,  if  you  choose  to 
turn  toward  him,  that's  the  essence  of  a  vale.  There  he  is  forever 
in  the  distance,  your  friend  and  companion;  you  never  lose  him 
as  you  do  in  hilly  districts. 

And  then  what  a  hill  is  the  White  Horse  Hill!  There  it  stands, 
right  up  above  all  the  rest,  nine  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
the  boldest,  bravest  shape  for  a  chalk  hill  that  you  ever  saw.  Let 
us  go  up  to  the  top  of  him  and  see  what  is  to  be  found  there.    Ay, 

3  [9] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

you  may  well  wonder  and  think  it  odd  you  never  heard  of  this 
before;  but,  wonder  or  not  as  you  please,  there  are  hundreds  of 
such  things  lying  about  England  which  wiser  folk  than  you  know 
nothing  of  and  care  nothing  for.  Yes,  it's  a  magnificent  Roman 
camp,  and  no  mistake,  with  gates  and  ditch  and  mounds,  all  as 
complete  as  it  was  twenty  years  after  the  strong  old  rogues  left  it. 
Here,  right  up  on  the  highest  point,  from  which  they  say  you  can 
see  eleven  counties,  they  trenched  round  all  the  table-land,  some 
twelve  or  fourteen  acres,  as  was  their  custom,  for  they  couldn't 
bear  anybody  to  overlook  them,  and  made  their  eyry.  The  ground 
falls  away  rapidly  on  all  sides.  Was  there  ever  such  turf  in  the 
whole  world  ?  You  sink  up  to  your  ankles  at  every  step,  and  yet 
the  spring  of  it  is  delicious.  There  is  always  a  breeze  in  the 
"camp,"  as  it  is  called;  and  here  it  lies  just  as  the  Romans  left  it, 
except  that  cairn  on  the  east  stde  left  by  her  Majesty's  corps  of 
sappers  and  miners  the  other  day,  when  they  and  the  engineer 
officer  had  finished  their  sojourn  there  and  their  surveys  for  the 
ordnance  map  of  Berkshire.  It  is  altogether  a  place  that  you 
won't  forget — a  place  to  open  a  man's  soul  and  make  him  prophesy 
as  he  looks  down  on  that  great  vale  spread  out  as  the  garden  of 
the  Lord  before  him,  and  wave  on  wave  of  the  mysterious  downs 
behind;  and  to  the  right  and  left  the  chalk  hills  running  away  into 
the  distance  along  which  he  can  trace  for  miles  the  old  Roman 
road,  "the  Ridgeway"  ("the  Rudge,"  as  the  country  folk  call  it), 
keeping  straight  along  the  highest  back  of  the  hills — such  a  place 
as  Balak  brought  Balaam  to,  and  told  him  to  prophesy  against  the 
people  in  the  valley  beneath.  And  he  could  not,  neither  shall  you, 
for  they  are  a  people  of  the  Lord  who  abide  there. 

And  now  we  leave  the  camp  and  descend  toward  the  west,  and 
are  on  the  Ashdown.  We  are  treading  on  heroes.  It  is  sacred 
ground  for  Englishmen,  more  sacred  than  all  but  one  or  two  fields 
where  their  bones  lie  whitening.  For  this  is  the  actual  place  where 
our  Alfred  won  his  great  battle,  the  battle  of  Ashdown  ("iEscen- 
dum"  in  the  chroniclers),  which  broke  the  Danish  power  and 

[10] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

made  England  a  Christian  land.  1  he  Danes  held  the  camp  and 
the  slope  where  we  are  standing — the  whole  crown  of  the  hill,  in 
fact.  "The  heathen  had  beforehand  seized  the  higher  ground," 
as  old  Asser  says,  having  wasted  everything  behind  them  from 
London,  and  being  just  ready  to  burst  down  on  the  fair  vale, 
Alfred's  own  birthplace  and  heritage.  And  up  the  heights  came 
the  Saxons,  as  they  did  at  the  Alma.  "The  Christians  led  up 
their  line  from  the  lower  ground.  There  stood  also  on  that  same 
spot  a  single  thorn-tree,  marvellous  stumpy  (which  we  ourselves 
with  our  very  own  eves  have  seen)."  Bless  the  old  chronicler! 
does  he  think  nobody  ever  saw  the  "single  thorn-tree"  but  him- 
self.'' Why,  there  it  stands  to  this  very  day,  just  on  the  edge  of  the 
slope,  and  I  saw  it  not  three  weeks  since — an  old,  single  thorn-tree, 
"marvellous  stumpy."  At  least,  if  it  isn't  the  same  tree,  it  ought 
to  be,  for  it's  just  in  the  place  where  the  battle  must  have  been 
won  or  lost — "around  which,  as  I  was  saying,  the  two  lines  of 
foemen  came  together  in  battle  with  a  huge  shout.  And  in  this 
place,  one  of  the  two  kings  of  the  heathen  and  five  of  his  earls  fell 
down  and  died,  and  many  thousands  of  the  heathen  side  in  the 
same  place."*  After  which  crowning  mercy,  the  pious  king,  that 
there  might  never  be  wanting  a  sign  and  a  memorial  to  the  country- 
side, carved  out  on  the  northern  side  of  the  chalk  hill,  under  the 
camp,  where  it  is  almost  precipitous,  the  great  Saxon  white  horse 
which  he  who  will  may  see  from  the  railway,  and  which  gives  its 
name  to  the  vale  over  which  it  has  looked  these  thousand  years 
and  more. 

Right  down  below  the  White  Horse  is  a  curious  deep  and  broad 

*  "  Pagani  editiorem  locum  praeoccupaverant.  Christiani  ab  inferiori  loco 
aciem  dirigebant.  Erat  quoque  in  eodem  loco  unica  spinosa  arbor,  brevis  admo- 
dum  (quam  nos  ipsi  nostris  propriis  oculis  vidimus).  Circa  quam  ergo  hostiles 
inter  se  acies  cum  ingenti  clamore  ho.stiliter  conveniunt.  Quo  in  loco  alter  de 
duobus  Paganorum  regibus  et  quinque  comites  occisi  occubuerunt,  et  multa 
millia  Paganae  partis  in  eodetn  loco.  Cecidit  illic  ergo  Bciegsceg  Rex,  et  Sidroc 
ille  senex  comes,  et  Sidroc  Junior  comes,  et  Obsbern  comes,"  etc. — Annates 
Rcrnm  Gestarum  ^Ifredi  Magni,  Auctore  Asserio.  Recensuit  Franciscus  Wise. 
Oxford,  1722,  p.  23. 

[13] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

gulley  called  "the  Manger,"  into  one  side  of  which  the  hills  fall 
with  a  series  of  the  most  lovely  sweeping  curves,  known  as  "the 
Giant's  Stairs";  they  are  not  a  bit  like  stairs,  but  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  them  anywhere  else,  with  their  short,  green  turf,  and 
tender  bluebells,  and  gossamer  and  thistledown  gleaming  in  the 
sun,  and  the  sheep-paths  running  along  their  sides  like  ruled  lines. 

The  other  side  of  the  Manger  is  formed  by  the  Dragon's  Hill,  a 
curious,  little,  round,  self-confident  fellow,  thrown  forward  from 
the  range,  and  utterly  unlike  everything  round  him.  On  this  hill 
some  deliverer  of  mankind,  St.  George,  the  country  folk  used  to 
tell  me,  killed  a  dragon.  Whether  it  were  St.  George,  I  cannot 
say;  but  surely  a  dragon  was  killed  there,  for  you  may  see  the 
marks  yet  where  his  blood  ran  down,  and  more  by  token  the  place 
where  it  ran  down  is  the  easiest  way  up  the  hillside. 

Passing  along  the  Ridgeway  to  the  west  for  about  a  mile,  we 
come  to  a  little  clump  of  young  beech  and  firs,  with  a  growth  of 
thorn  and  privet  underwood.  Here  you  may  find  nests  of  the 
strong  down  partridge  and  peewit,  but  take  care  that  the  keeper 
isn't  down  upon  you;  and  in  the  middle  of  it  is  an  old  cromlech,  a 
huge  flat  stone  raised  on  seven  or  eight  others,  and  led  up  to  by  a 
path,  with  large  single  stones  set  up  on  each  side.  This  is  Way- 
land  Smith's  cave,  a  place  of  classic  fame  now;  but,  as  Sir  Walter 
has  touched  it,  I  may  as  well  let  it  alone,  and  refer  you  to  Kenil- 
worth  for  the  legend. 

The  thick,  deep  wood  which  you  see  in  the  hollow  about  a  mile 
off  surrounds  Ashdown  Park,  built  by  Inigo  Jones.  Four  broad 
alleys  are  cut  through  the  wood  from  circumference  to  centre,  and 
each  leads  to  one  face  of  the  house.  The  mystery  of  the  downs 
hangs  about  house  and  wood,  as  they  stand  there  alone,  so  unlike 
all  around,  with  the  green  slopes  studded  with  great  stones  just 
about  this  part,  stretching  away  on  all  sides.  It  was  a  wise  Lord 
Craven,  I  think,  who  pitched  his  tent  there. 

Passing  along  the  Ridgeway  to  the  east,  we  soon  come  to  culti- 
vated land.     The  downs,  strictly  so  called,  are  no  more;  Lincoln- 

[14] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

shire  farmers  have  been  imported,  and  the  long,  fresh  slopes  are 
sheep-walks  no  more,  but  grow  famous  turnips  and  barley.  One 
of  those  improvers  lives  over  there  at  the  "Seven  Barrows"  farm, 
another  mystery  of  the  great  downs.  There  are  the  barrows  still, 
solemn  and  silent,  like  ships  in  the  calm  sea,  the  sepulchres  of 
some  sons  of  men.  But  of  whom  ?  It  is  three  miles  from  the 
White  Horse,  too  far  for  the  slain  of  Ashdown  to  be  buried  there — 
who  shall  say  what  heroes  are  waiting  there  .?  But  we  must  get 
down  into  the  vale  again,  and  so  away  by  the  Great  Western  Rail- 
way to  town,  for  time  and  the  printer's  devil  press,  and  it  is  a  ter- 
rible long  and  slippery  descent  and  a  shocking  bad  road.  At  the 
bottom,  however,  there  is  a  pleasant  public,  whereat  we  must 
really  take  a  modest  quencher,  for  the  down  here  is  a  provocative 
of  thirst.  So  we  pull  up  under  an  old  oak  which  stands  before  the 
door. 

"What  is  the  name  of  your  hill,  landlord  ?'* 

"  Blawing  Stw^un  Hill,  sir,  to  be  sure." 

[Reader.     '' Sturm  f" 

Author.     ''Stone,  stupid — the  Blowing  Stone.^^'\ 

"And  of  your  house  .?     I  can't  make  out  the  sign." 

'*  Blawing  Stwun,  sir,"  says  the  landlord,  pouring  out  his  old 
ale  from  a  Toby  Phil  pot  jug,  with  a  melodious  crash,  into  the 
long-necked  glass. 

"What  queer  names!"  say  we,  sighing  at  the  end  of  our  draught 
and  holding  out  the  glass  to  be  replenished. 

"  Bean't  queer  at  all,  as  I  can  see,  sir,"  says  mine  host,  handing 
back  our  glass,  "seeing  as  this  here  is  the  Blawing  Stwun  hisself," 
putting  his  hand  on  a  square  lump  of  stone  some  three  feet  and  a 
half  high,  perforated  with  two  or  three  queer  holes,  like  petrified 
antediluvian  rat-holes,  which  lies  there  close  under  the  oak,  under 
our  very  nose.  We  are  more  than  ever  puzzled,  and  drink  our 
second  glass  of  ale  wondering  what  will  come  next.  "Like  to 
hear  un,  sir.?"  says  mine  host,  setting  down  Toby  Philpot  on  the 
tray,  and  resting  both  hands  on  the  "Stwun."     We  are  ready  for 

['5l 


TOM    BROWN'S 

anything;  and  he,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  appHes  his  mouth 
to  one  of  the  rat-holes.  Something  must  come  of  it,  if  he  doesn't 
burst.  Good  heavens!  I  hope  he  has  no  apoplectic  tendencies. 
Yes,  here  it  comes,  sure  enough,  a  grewsome  sound  between  a 
moan  and  a  roar,  and  spreads  itself  away  over  the  valley,  and  up 
the  hillside,  and  into  the  woods  at  the  back  of  the  house — a  ghost- 
like, awful  voice.  "Um  do  say,  sir,"  says  mine  host,  rising,  purple- 
faced,  while  the  moan  is  still  coming  out  of  the  "Stwun,"  "as  they 
used  in  old  times  to  warn  the  country-side,  by  blawing  the  stwun 
when  the  enemy  was  a-comin' — and  as  how  folks  could  make  un 
heered  them  for  seven  mile  round;  leastways,  so  I've  heered 
Lawyer  Smith  say,  and  he  knows  a  smart  sight  about  them  old 
times."  We  can  hardly  swallow  Lawyer  Smith's  seven  miles;  but 
could  the  blowing  of  the  stone  have  been  a  summons,  a  sort  of 
sending  the  fiery  cross  round  the  neighborhood  in  the  old  times  ? 
What  old  times.?  Who  knows.?  We  pay  for  our  beer,  and  are 
thankful. 

"And  what's  the  name  of  the  village  just  below,  landlord?" 

"Kingstone  Lisle,  sir." 

"Fine  plantations  you've  got  here  .?" 

"Yes,  sir,  the  squire's  'mazin'  fond  of  trees  and  such-like." 

"No  wonder.  He's  got  some  real  beauties  to  be  fond  of.  Good- 
day,  landlord." 

"Good-day,  sir,  and  a  pleasant  ride  to  'e." 

And  now,  my  boys,  you  whom  I  want  to  get  for  readers,  have 
you  had  enough  ?  Will  you  give  in  at  once,  and  say  you're  con- 
vinced, and  let  me  begin  my  story,  or  will  you  have  more  of  it .? 
Remember,  I've  only  been  over  a  little  bit  of  the  hillside  yet — what 
you  could  ride  round  easily  on  your  ponies  in  an  hour.  I'm  only 
just  come  down  into  the  vale,  by  Blowing  Stone  Hill,  and  if  I  once 
begin  about  the  vale,  what's  to  stop  me  ?  You'll  have  to  hear  all 
about  Wantage,  the  birthplace  of  Alfred,  and  Farringdon,  which 
held  out  so  long  for  Charles  the  First  (the  vale  was  near  Oxford, 
and   dreadfully  malignant;    full  of  Throgmortons,   Puseys,   and 

[i6] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

Pyes,  and  such-like,  and  their  brawny  retainers).  Did  you  ever 
read  Thomas  Ingoldsby's  Legend  of  Hamiliotj  Tighe?  If  you 
haven't,  you  ought  to  have.  Well,  Farringdon  is  where  he  lived 
before  he  went  to  sea;  his  real  name  was  Hampden  Pye,  and  the 
Pyes  were  the  great  folk  at  Farringdon.  Then  there's  Pusey — 
you've  heard  of  the  Pusey  horn,  which  King  Canute  gave  to  the 
Puseys  of  that  day,  and  which  the  gallant  old  squire,  lately  gone 
to  his  rest  (whom  Berkshire  freeholders  turned  out  of  last  Parlia- 
ment, to  their  eternal  disgrace,  for  voting  according  to  his  con- 
science), used  to  bring  out  on  high  days,  holidays,  and  bonfire 
nights.  And  the  splendid  old  cross  church  at  Uffington,  the 
Uffingas  town — the  whole  country-side  teems  with  Saxon  names 
and  memories!  And  the  old  moated  grange  at  Compton,  nestled 
close  under  the  hillside,  where  twenty  Marianas  may  have  lived, 
with  its  bright  water-lilies  in  the  moat,  and  its  yew  walk,  "the 
cloister  walk,"  and  its  peerless  terraced  gardens.  There  they  all 
are,  and  twenty  things  besides,  for  those  who  care  about  them  and 
have  eyes.  And  these  are  the  sort  of  things  you  may  find,  I  be- 
lieve, every  one  of  you,  in  any  common  English  country  neighbor- 
hood. 

Will  you  look  for  them  under  your  own  noses,  or  will  you  not  ? 
Well,  v/ell;  Fve  done  what  I  can  to  make  you,  and  if  you  will  go 
gadding  over  half  Europe  now  every  holidays,  I  can't  help  it.  I 
was  born  and  bred  a  west-countryman,  thank  God!  a  Wessex  man, 
a  citizen  of  the  noblest  Saxon  kingdom  of  Wessex,  a  regular 
"Angular  Saxon,"  the  very  soul  of  me  "  adscriptus  glebe."  There's 
nothing  like  the  old  country-side  for  me,  and  no  music  like  the 
twang  of  the  real  old  Saxon  tongue,  as  one  gets  it  fresh  from  the 
veritable  chaw  in  the  White  Horse  Vale;  and  I  say  with  "Gaarge 
Ridler,"  the  old  west-country  yeoman, 

"Throo  aall   the  waarld  owld  Gaarge  would   hwoast. 
Commend   me  to  merry  owld   England   mwoast; 
While  vools  gwoes  prating  vur  and   nigh, 
We  stwops  at  whum,  my  dog  and   I." 

[•7] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

Here,  at  any  rate,  lived  and  stopped  at  home  Squire  Brown, 
J.  P.  for  the  county  of  Berks,  in  a  village  near  the  foot  of  the  White 
Horse  range.  And  here  he  dealt  out  justice  and  mercy  in  a  rough 
way,  and  begat  sons  and  daughters,  and  hunted  the  fox,  and 
grumbled  at  the  badness  of  the  roads  and  the  times.  And  his  wife 
dealt  out  stockings,  and  calico  shirts,  and  smock  frocks,  and  com- 
forting drinks  to  the  old  folks  with  the  "rheumatiz,"  and  good 
counsel  to  all;  and  kept  the  coal  and  clothes  clubs  going  for  yule- 
tide,  when  the  bands  of  mummers  came  round,  dressed  out  in 
ribbons  and  colored  paper  caps,  and  stamped  round  the  squire's 
kitchen,  repeating  in  true  singsong  vernacular  the  legend  of  St. 
George  and  his  fight,  and  the  ten-pound  doctor  who  plays  his 
part  at  healing  the  saint — a  relic,  I  believe,  of  the  old  middle-age 
mysteries.  It  was  the  first  dramatic  representation  which  greeted 
the  eyes  of  little  Tom,  who  was  brought  down  into  the  kitchen  by 
his  nurse  to  witness  it,  at  the  mature  age  of  three  years.  Tom 
was  the  eldest  child  of  his  parents,  and  from  his  earliest  babyhood 
exhibited  the  family  characteristics  in  great  strength.  He  was  a 
hearty,  strong  boy  from  the  first,  given  to  fighting  with  and  escap- 
ing from  his  nurse,  and  fraternizing  with  all  the  village  boys,  with 
whom  he  made  expeditions  all  round  the  neighborhood.  And 
here,  in  the  quiet,  old-fashioned  country  village,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  everlasting  hills,  Tom  Brown  was  reared,  and  never  left  it 
till  he  went  first  to  school  when  nearly  eight  years  of  age — for  in 
those  days  change  of  air  twice  a  year  was  not  thought  absolutely 
necessary  for  the  health  of  all  her  Majesty's  lieges. 

I  have  been  credibly  informed,  and  am  inclined  to  believe,  that 
the  various  boards  of  directors  of  railway  companies,  those 
gigantic  jobbers  and  bribers,  while  quarrelling  about  everything 
else,  agreed  together  some  ten  years  back  to  buy  up  the  learned 
profession  of  medicine,  body  and  soul.  To  this  end  they  set  apart 
several  millions  of  money,  which  they  continually  distribute  judi- 
ciously among  the  doctors,  stipulating  only  this  one  thing,  that 
they  shall  prescribe  change  of  air  to  every  patient  who  can  pay, 

[i8] 


SCHOOL  DAYS 

or  borrow  money  to  pay,  a  railway  fare,  and  see  their  prescription 
carried  out.  If  it  be  not  for  this,  why  is  it  that  none  of  us  can  be 
well  at  home  for  a  year  together  ?  It  wasn't  so  twenty  years  ago 
— not  a  bit  of  it.  The  Browns  didn't  go  out  of  the  county  once  in 
five  years,  A  visit  to  Reading  or  Abingdon  twice  a  year,  at  Assizes 
or  Quarter  Sessions,  which  the  squire  made  on  his  horse  with  a 
pair  of  saddle-bags  containing  his  wardrobe — a  stay  of  a  day  or 
two  at  some  country  neighbor's,  or  an  expedition  to  a  county 
ball  or  the  yeomanry  review — made  up  the  sum  of  the  Brown 
locomotion  in  most  years.  A  stray  Brown  from  some  distant 
county  dropped  in  every  now  and  then;  or  from  Oxford,  on  grave 
nag,  an  old  don,  contemporary  of  the  squire;  and  were  looked 
upon  by  the  Brown  household  and  the  villagers  with  the  same  sort 
of  feeling  with  which  we  now  regard  a  man  who  has  crossed  the 
Rocky  Mountains  or  launched  a  boat  on  the  great  lake  in  Cen- 
tral Africa,  The  White  Horse  Vale,  remember,  was  traversed  by 
no  great  road;  nothing  but  country  parish  roads,  and  these  very 
bad.  Only  one  coach  ran  there,  and  this  one  only  from  Wantage 
to  London,  so  that  the  western  part  of  the  Vale  was  without  regu- 
lar means  of  moving  on,  and  certainly  didn't  seem  to  want  them. 
There  was  the  canal,  by  the  way,  which  supplied  the  country-side 
with  coal,  and  up  and  down  which  continually  went  the  long 
barges,  with  the  big,  black  men  lounging  by  the  side  of  the  horses 
along  the  towing-path,  and  the  women  in  bright-colored  hand- 
kerchiefs standing  in  the  sterns  steering.  Standing,  I  say,  but 
you  could  never  see  whether  they  were  standing  or  sitting,  all  but 
their  heads  and  shoulders  being  out  of  sight  in  the  cozy  little 
cabins  which  occupied  some  eight  feet  of  the  stern,  and  which  Tom 
Brown  pictured  to  himself  as  the  most  desirable  of  residences. 
His  nurse  told  him  that  those  good-natured-looking  women  were 
in  the  constant  habit  of  enticing  children  into  the  barges  and  tak- 
ing them  up  to  London  and  selling  them,  which  Tom  wouldn't 
believe,  and  which  made  him  resolve  as  soon  as  possible  to  accept 
the  oft-profFered  invitation  of  these  sirens  to  "young  master"  to 

[19] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

come  in  and  have  a  ride.     But  as  yet  the  nurse  was  too  much  for 
Tom. 

Yet  why  should  I,  after  all,  abuse  the  gadabout  propensities  of 
my  countrymen  ?  We  are  a  vagabond  nation  now,  that's  certain, 
for  better,  for  worse,  I  am  a  vagabond;  I  have  been  away  from 
home  no  less  than  five  distinct  times  in  the  last  year.  The  Oueen 
sets  us  the  example — we  are  moving  on  from  top  to  bottom.  Little, 
dirty  Jack,  who  abides  in  Clement's  Inn  gateway  and  blacks  my 
boots  for  a  penny,  takes  his  month's  hop-picking  every  year  as  a 
matter  of  course.  Why  shouldn't  he  ^  I'm  delighted  at  it.  I 
love  vagabonds,  only  I  prefer  poor  to  rich  ones;  couriers  and 
ladies'  maids,  imperials  and  travelling  carriages,  are  an  abomi- 
nation unto  me — I  cannot  away  with  them.  But  for  dirty  T^ck, 
and  every  good  fellow  who,  in  the  words  of  the  capital  French 
song,  moves  about, 

"Comme  le  limacon, 
Portant  tout  son  bagage, 
Ses  meubles,  sa  maison," 

on  his  own  back,  why,  good-luck  to  them,  and  many  a  merry  road- 
side adventure,  and  steaming  supper  in  the  chimney-corners  of 
roadside  inns,  Swiss  chalets,  Hottentot  kraals,  or  wherever  else 
they  like  to  go.  So,  having  succeeded  in  contradicting  myself  in 
my  first  chapter  (which  gives  me  great  hopes  that  you  will  all  go 
on  and  think  me  a  good  fellow  notwithstanding  my  crotchet),  I 
shall  here  shut  up  for  the  present,  and  consider  my  ways;  having 
resolved  to  "sar'  it  out,"  as  we  say  in  the  Vale,  "holus-bolus," 
just  as  it  comes,  and  then  you'll  probably  get  the  truth  out  of  me. 


SCHOOL   DAYS 


CHAPTER  II 


THE    VEAST 

"And  the  King  commandeth  and  forbiddeth,  that  from  henceforth 
neither  fairs  nor  markets  be  kept  in  Church-yards,  for  the  honour  of  the 
Church." — Statutes  13  Edw.  I.,  stat.  ii.,  cap.  vi. 

S  that  venerable  and  learned  poet  (whose 
voluminous  works  we  all  think  it  the  correct 
thing  to  admire  and  talk  about,  but  don't 
read  often)  most  truly  says,  "the  child  is 
father  to  the  man";  a  fortioriy  therefore,  he 
must  be  father  to  the  boy.  So,  as  we  are 
going,  at  any  rate,  to  see  Tom  Brown  through 
his  boyhood,  supposing  we  never  get  any  further  (which,  if  you 
show  a  proper  sense  of  the  value  of  this  history,  there  is  no 
knowing  but  what  we  may),  let  us  have  a  look  at  the  life  and 

[21] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

environments  of  the  child,  in  the  quiet  country  village  to  which 
we  were  introduced    in  the  last  chapter. 

Tom,  as  has  been  already  said,  was  a  robust  and  combative 
urchin,  and  at  the  age  of  four  began  to  struggle  against  the  yoke 
and  authority  of  his  nurse.  That  functionary  was  a  good-hearted, 
tearful,  scatter-brained  girl,  lately  taken  by  Tom's  mother,  Madam 
Brown,  as  she  was  called,  from  the  village  school  to  be  trained  as 
nurserymaid.  Madam  Brown  was  a  rare  trainer  of  servants, 
and  spent  herself  freely  in  the  profession;  for  profession  it  was, 
and  gave  her  more  trouble  by  half  than  many  people  take  to  earn 
a  good  income.  Her  servants  were  known  and  sought  after  for 
miles  round.  Almost  all  the  girls  who  attained  a  certain  place 
in  the  village  school  were  taken  by  her,  one  or  two  at  a  time,  as 
housemaids,  laundrymaids,  nurserymaids,  or  kitchenmaids,  and 
after  a  year  or  two's  drilling  were  started  in  life  among  the  neigh- 
boring families,  with  good  principles  and  wardrobes.  One  of 
the  results  of  this  system  was  the  perpetual  despair  of  Mrs.  Brown's 
cook  and  own  maid,  who  no  sooner  had  a  notable  girl  made  to 
their  hands  than  missus  was  sure  to  find  a  good  place  for  her  and 
send  her  off,  taking  in  fresh  importations  from  the  school.  An- 
other was  that  the  house  was  alw:  ys  full  of  young  girls,  with 
clean,  shining  faces,  who  broke  plates  and  scorched  linen,  but 
made  an  atmosphere  of  cheerful,  homely  life  about  the  place, 
good  for  every  one  who  came  within  its  influence.  Mrs.  Brown 
loved  young  people,  and,  in  fact,  human  creatures  in  general, 
above  plates  and  linen.  They  were  more  like  a  lot  of  elder 
children  than  servants,  and  felt  to  her  more  as  a  mother  or  aunt 
than  as  a  mistress. 

Tom's  nurse  was  one  who  took  in  her  instruction  very  slowly 
— she  seemed  to  have  two  left  hands  and  no  head;  and  so  Mrs. 
Brown  kept  her  on  longer  than  usual,  that  she  might  expend  her 
awkwardness  and  forgetfulness  upon  those  who  would  not  judge 
and  punish  her  too  strictly  for  them. 

Charity  Lamb  was  her  name.     It  had  been  the  immemorial 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

habit  of  the  viUagc  to  christen  children  cither  by  Bible  names  or 
by  those  of  the  cardinal  and  other  virtues;  so  that  one  was  for- 
ever hearing  in  the  viUage  street,  or  on  the  green,  shrill  sounds 
of  "Prudence!  Prudence!  thee  cum'  out  o'  the  gutter!"  or, 
"Mercy!  d'rat  the  girl,  what  bist  thee  a-doin'  wi'  little  Faith  ?" 
and  there  were  Ruths,  Rachels,  Keziahs  in  every  corner.  The 
same  with  the  boys:  they  were  Benjamins,  Jacobs,  Noahs, 
Enochs.  I  suppose  the  custom  has  come  down  from  Puritan 
times — there  it  is,  at  any  rate,  very  strong  still  in  the  Vale. 

Well,  from  early  morn  till  dewy  eve,  when  she  had  it  out  of 
him  in  the  cold  tub  before  putting  him  to  bed.  Charity  and  Tom 
were  pitted  against  each  other.  Physical  power  was  as  yet  on 
the  side  of  Charity,  but  she  hadn't  a  chance  with  him  wherever 
headwork  was  wanted.  This  war  of  independence  began  every 
morning  before  breakfast,  when  Charity  escorted  her  charge  to 
a  neighboring  farm-house  which  supplied  the  Browns,  and  where, 
by  his  mother's  wi^sh,  Master  Tom  went  to  drink  whey  before 
breakfast.  Tom  had  no  sort  of  objection  to  whey,  but  he  had 
a  decided  liking  for  curds,  which  were  forbidden  as  unwholesome, 
and  there  was  seldom  a  morning  that  he  did  not  manage  to  secure 
a  handful  of  hard  curds,  in  defiance  of  Charity  and  of  the  farmer's 
wife.  The  latter  good  soul  was  a  gaunt,  angular  woman,  who, 
with  an  old,  black  bonnet  on  the  top  of  her  head,  the  strings 
dangling  about  her  shoulders,  and  her  gown  tucked  through  her 
pocket-holes,  w^ent  clattering  about  the  dairy,  cheese-room,  and 
yard  in  high  pattens.  Charity  was  some  sort  of  niece  of  the  old 
lady's,  and  was  consequently  free  of  the  farm-house  and  garden, 
into  which  she  could  not  resist  going  for  the  purpose  of  gossip 
and  flirtation  with  the  heir-apparent,  who  was  a  dawdling  fellow, 
never  out  at  work  as  he  ought  to  have  been.  The  moment 
Charity  had  found  her  cousin,  or  any  other  occupation,  Tom 
would  slip  away;  and  in  a  minute  shrill  cries  would  he  heard 
from  the  dairy:  "Charity!  Charity!  thee  lazy  hussy,  where  bist .'"' 
and  Tom  would  break  cover,  hands  and  mouth  full  of  curds,  and 

[23] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

take  refuge  on  the  shaky  surface  of  the  great  muck  reservoir  in 
the  middle  of  the  yard,  disturbing  the  repose  of  the  great  pigs. 
Here  he  was  in  safety,  as  no  grown  person  could  follow  without 
getting  over  their  knees;  and  the  luckless  Charity,  while  her 
aunt  scolded  her  from  the  dairy-door  for  being  "alius  hankering 
about  arter  our  Willum  instead  of  minding  Master  Tom,"  would 
descend  from  threats  to  coaxing  to  lure  Tom  out  of  the  muck, 
which  was  rising  over  his  shoes  and  would  soon  tell  a  tale  on  his 
stockings  for  which  she  would  b'^  sure  to  catch  it  from  missus's 
maid. 

Tom  had  two  abetters  in  the  shape  of  a  couple  of  old  boys, 
Noah  and  Benjamin  by  name,  who  defended  him  from  Charity 
and  expended  much  time  upon  his  education.  They  were  both 
of  them  retired  servants  of  former  generations  of  the  Browns. 
Noah  Crooke  was  a  keen,  dry  old  man  of  almost  ninety,  but  still 
able  to  totter  about.  He  talked  to  Tom  quite  as  if  he  were  one  of 
his  own  family,  and,  indeed,  had  long  completely  identified  the 
Browns  with  himself.  In  some  remote  age  he  had  been  the  atten- 
dant of  a  Miss  Brown,  and  had  conveyed  her  about  the  country 
on  a  pillion.  He  had  a  little,  round  picture  of  the  identical  gray 
horse,  caparisoned  with  the  identical  pillion,  before  which  he  used 
to  do  a  sort  of  fetish  worship  and  abuse  turnpike-roads  and  car- 
riages. He  wore  an  old,  full-bottomed  wig,  the  gift  of  some  dandy 
old  Brown  whom  he  had  valeted  in  the  middle  of  last  century, 
which  habiliment  Master  Tom  looked  upon  with  considerable 
respect,  not  to  say  fear;  and,  indeed,  his  whole  feeling  toward  Noah 
was  strongly  tainted  with  awe;  and  when  the  old  gentleman  was 
gathered  to  his  fathers,  Tom's  lamentation  over  him  was  not  un- 
accompanied by  a  certain  joy  at  having  seen  the  last  of  the  wig: 
**Poor  old  Noah,  dead  and  gone!"  said  he;  "Tom  Brown  so  sorry! 
Put  him  in  the  coffin,  wig  and  all." 

But  old  Bcnjy  was  young  master's  real  delight  and  refuge. 
He  was  a  youth  by  the  side  of  Noah,  scarce  seventy  years  old.  A 
cheery,  humorous,  kind-hearted  old  man,  full  of  sixty  years  of 

[24] 


BENJY   WOULD    INSTRUCT    TOM    IN    THE    DOINGS   OF 

DECEASED    BROWNS 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

Vale  gossip  and  of  all  sorts  of  helpful  ways  for  young  and  old, 
but,  above  all,  for  children.  It  was  he  who  bent  the  first  pin  with 
which  Tom  extracted  his  first  stickleback  out  of  "  Pebbly  Brook," 
the  little  stream  which  ran  through  the  village.  The  first  stickle- 
back was  a  splendid  fellow,  with  fabulous  red-and-blue  gills. 
Tom  kept  him  in  a  small  basin  till  the  day  of  his  death,  and  be- 
came a  fisherman  from  that  day.  Within  a  month  from  the  taking 
of  the  first  stickleback  Benjy  had  carried  ofFour  hero  to  the  canal, 
in  defiance  of  Charity,  and  between  them,  after  a  whole  afternoon's 
popjoying,  they  had  caught  three  or  four  small,  coarse  fish  and  a 
perch,  averaging  perhaps  two  and  a  half  ounces  each,  which  Tom 
bore  home  in  rapture  to  his  mother  as  a  precious  gift,  and  she 
received  like  a  true  mother  with  equal  rapture,  instructing  the 
cook,  nevertheless,  in  a  private  interview  not  to  prepare  the  same 
for  the  squire's  dinner.  Charity  had  appealed  against  old  Benjy 
in  the  mean  time,  representing  the  dangers  of  the  canal  banks; 
but  Mrs.  Brown,  seeing  the  boy's  inaptitude  for  female  guidance, 
had  decided  in  Benjy's  favor,  and  from  thenceforth  the  old  man 
was  Tom's  dry-nurse.  And  as  they  sat  by  the  canal  watching 
their  little  green-and-white  float,  Benjy  would  instruct  him  in  the 
doings  of  deceased  Browns.  How  his  grandfather,  in  the  early 
days  of  the  great  war,  when  there  was  much  distress  and  crime  in 
the  Vale,  and  the  magistrates  had  been  threatened  by  the  mob, 
had  ridden  in  with  a  big  stick  in  his  hand  and  held  the  Petty 
Sessions  by  himself.  How  his  great-uncle,  the  rector,  had  en- 
countered and  laid  the  last  ghost,  who  had  frightened  the  old 
women,  male  and  female,  of  the  parish  out  of  their  senses,  and 
who  turned  out  to  be  the  blacksmith's  apprentice,  disguised  in 
drink  and  a  white  sheet.  It  was  Benjy,  too,  who  saddled  Tom's 
first  pony  and  instructed  him  in  the  mysteries  of  horsemanship, 
teaching  him  to  throw  his  weight  back  and  keep  his  hand  low; 
and  who  stood  chuckling  outside  the  door  of  the  girls'  school 
when  Tom  rode  his  little  Shetland  into  the  cottage  and  round  the 
table  where  the  old  dame  and  her  pupils  were  seated  at  their  work, 

[V] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Benjy  himself  was  come  of  a  family  distinguished  in  the  Vale 
for  their  prowess  in  all  athletic  games.  Some  half-dozen  of  his 
brothers  and  kinsmen  had  gone  to  the  wars,  of  whom  only  one 
had  survived  to  come  home,  with  a  small  pension,  and  three  bul- 
lets in  different  parts  of  his  body;  he  had  shared  Benjy's  cottage 
till  his  death,  and  had  left  him  his  old  dragoon's  sword  and  pistol, 
which  hung  over  the  mantelpiece,  flanked  by  a  pair  of  heavy 
single-sticks  with  which  Benjy  himself  had  won  renown  long  ago 
as  an  old  gamester,  against  the  picked  men  of  Wiltshire  and 
Somersetshire  in  many  a  good  bout  at  the  revels  and  pastime  of 
the  country-side.  For  he  had  been  a  famous  back-sword-man  in 
his  young  days,  and  a  good  wrestler  at  elbow  and  collar. 

Back-swording  and  wrestling  were  the  most  serious  holiday 
pursuits  of  the  Vale — those  by  which  men  attained  fame — and 
each  village  had  its  champion.  I  suppose  that,  on  the  whole, 
people  were  less  worked  then  than  they  are  now;  at  any  rate,  they 
seemed  to  have  more  time  and  energy  for  the  old  pastimes.  The 
great  times  for  back-swording  came  round  once  a  year  in  each 
village,  at  the  feast.  The  Vale  "veasts"  were  not  the  common 
statute  feasts,  but  much  more  ancient  business.  They  are  literally, 
so  far  as  one  can  ascertain,  feasts  of  the  dedication — /.  e.y  they 
were  first  established  in  the  church-yard  on  the  day  on  which  the 
village  church  was  opened  for  public  worship,  which  was  on  the 
wake  or  festival  of  the  patron  saint,  and  have  been  held  on  the 
same  day  in  every  year  since  that  time. 

There  was  no  longer  any  remembrance  of  why  the  "veast" 
had  been  instituted,  but  nevertheless  it  had  a  pleasant  and  almost 
sacred  character  of  its  own.  For  it  was  then  that  all  the  children 
of  the  village,  wherever  they  were  scattered,  tried  to  get  home  for 
a  holiday  to  visit  their  fathers  and  mothers  and  friends,  bringing 
with  them  their  wages  or  some  little  gift  from  up  the  country  for 
the  old  folk.  Perhaps  for  a  day  or  two  before,  but  at  any  rate 
on  "veast  day"  and  the  day  after  in  our  village,  you  might  see 
strapping,  healthy  young  men  and  women  from  all  parts  of  the 

[28] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

country  going  round  from  house  to  house  in  their  hcst  clothes, 
and  finishing  up  with  a  call  on  Madam  Brown,  whom  they  would 
consult  as  to  putting  out  their  earnings  to  the  best  advantage,  or 
how  to  expend  the  same  best  for  the  benefit  of  the  old  folk.  Every 
household,  however  poor,  managed  to  raise  a  '* feast-cake"  and 
bottle  of  ginger  or  raisin  wine,  which  stood  on  the  cottage  table 
ready  for  all  comers,  and  not  unlikely  to  make  them  remember 
feast-time — for  feast-cake  is  very  solid  and  full  of  huge  raisins. 
Moreover,  feast-time  was  the  day  of  reconciliation  for  the  parish. 
If  Job  Higgins  and  Noah  Freeman  hadn't  spoken  for  the  last  six 
months,  their  ''old  women"  would  be  sure  to  get  it  patched  up 
by  that  day.  And  though  there  was  a  good  deal  of  drinking  and 
low  vice  in  the  booths  of  an  evening,  it  was  pretty  well  confined 
to  those  who  would  have  been  doing  the  like  "veast  or  no  veast," 
and,  on  the  whole,  the  effect  was  humanizing  and  Christian.  In 
fact,  the  only  reason  why  this  is  not  the  case  still  is  that  gentle- 
folk and  farmers  have  taken  to  other  amusements,  and  have,  as 
usual,  forgotten  the  poor.  They  don't  attend  the  feasts  them- 
selves, and  call  them  disreputable,  whereupon  the  steadiest  of  the 
poor  leave  them  also,  and  they  become  what  they  are  called. 
Class  amusements,  be  they  for  dukes  or  plough-boys,  always 
become  nuisances  and  curses  to  a  country.  The  true  charm  of 
cricket  and  hunting  is  that  they  are  still  more  or  less  sociable 
and  universal — there's  a  place  for  every  man  who  will  come  and 
take  his  part. 

No  one  in  the  village  enjoyed  the  approach  of  "veast  day" 
more  than  Tom  in  the  year  in  which  he  was  taken  under  old 
Benjy's  tutelage.  The  feast  was  held  in  a  large,  green  field  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  village.  The  road  to  Farringdon  ran  along  one 
side  of  it,  and  the  brook  by  the  side  of  the  road;  and  above  the 
brook  was  another  large,  gentle-sloping  pasture-land,  with  a  foot- 
path running  down  it  from  the  church-yard;  and  the  old  church, 
the  originator  of  all  the  mirth,  towered  up  with  its  gray  walls  and 
lancet  windows,  overlooking  and  sanctioning  the  whole,  though 

[29] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

its  own  share  therein  had  been  forgotten.  At  the  point  where  the 
foot-path  crossed  the  brook  and  road  and  entered  on  the  field 
where  the  feast  was  held  was  a  long,  low,  road-side  inn,  and  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  field  was  a  large,  white-thatched  farm-house 
where  dwelt  an  old  sporting  farmer,  a  great  promoter  of  the  revels. 

Past  the  old  church  and  down  the  foot-path  pottered  the  old 
man  and  the  child,  hand  in  hand,  early  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
day  before  the  feast,  and  wandered  all  round  the  ground,  which 
was  already  being  occupied  by  the  "cheap  Jacks,"  with  their 
green-covered  carts  and  marvellous  assortment  of  wares,  and  the 
booths  of  more  legitimate  small  traders  with  their  tempting  arrays 
of  fairings  and  eatables!  and  penny  peep-shows  and  other  shows 
containing  pink  -  eyed  ladies  and  dwarfs  and  boa  -  constrictors 
and  wild  Indians.  But  the  object  of  most  interest  to  Benjy,  and, 
of  course,  to  his  pupil  also,  was  the  stage  of  rough  planks  some 
four  feet  high  which  was  being  put  up  by  the  village  carpenter 
for  the  back-swording  and  wrestling;  and,  after  surveying  the 
whole  tenderly,  old  Benjy  led  his  charge  away  to  the  road-side 
inn,  where  he  ordered  a  glass  of  ale  and  a  long  pipe  for  himself, 
and  discussed  these  unwonted  luxuries  on  the  bench  outside  in 
the  soft  autumn  evening  with  mine  host,  another  old  servant  of 
the  Browns,  and  speculated  with  him  on  the  likelihood  of  a  good 
show  of  old  gamesters  to  contend  for  the  morrow's  prizes,  and  told 
tales  of  the  gallant  bouts  of  forty  years  back,  to  which  Tom  listened 
with  all  his  ears  and  eyes. 

But  who  shall  tell  the  joy  of  the  next  morning,  when  the  church- 
bells  were  ringing  a  merry  peal,  and  old  Benjy  appeared  in  the 
servants'  hall,  resplendent  in  a  long,  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons, 
and  a  pair  of  old,  yellow  buckskins  and  top-boots,  which  he  had 
cleaned  for  and  inherited  from  Tom's  grandfather,  a  stout  thorn- 
stick  in  his  hand,  and  a  nosegay  of  pinks  and  lavender  in  his 
buttonhole,  and  led  away  Tom  in  his  best  clothes,  and  two  new 
shillings  in  his  breeches-pockets  ?  Those  two,  at  any  rate,  look 
like  enjoying  the  day's  revel. 

[3°] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

They  quicken  their  pace  when  they  get  into  the  church-yard, 
for  already  they  see  the  field  thronged  with  country  folk,  the  men 
in  clean  white  smocks  or  velveteen  or  fustian  coats,  with  rough 
plush  waistcoats  of  many  colors,  and  the  women  in  the  beautiful, 
long,  scarlet  cloak,  the  usual  outdoor  dress  of  west-country  vt^omen 
in  those  days,  and  which  often  descended  in  families  from  mother 
to  daughter,  or  in  new-fashioned  stuff  shawls,  which,  if  they  would 
but  believe  it,  don't  become  them  half  so  well.  The  air  resounds 
with  the  pipe  and  tabor,  and  the  drums  and  trumpets  of  the  show- 
men shouting  at  the  doors  of  their  caravans,  over  which  tremen- 
dous pictures  of  the  wonders  to  be  seen  within  hang  temptingly; 
while  through  all  rises  the  shrill  "  root-too-too-too "  of  Mr.  Punch 
and  the  unceasing  pan-pipe  of  his  satellite. 

"Lawk  a'  massey,  Mr.  Benjamin!"  cries  a  stout,  motherly 
woman  in  a  red  cloak  as  they  enter  the  field,  "be  that  you? 
Well,  1  never!  you  do  look  purely.  And  how's  the  squire,  and 
madam,  and  the  family .?" 

Benjy  graciously  shakes  hands  with  the  speaker — who  has  left 
our  village  for  some  years,  but  has  come  over  for  veast  day  on  a 
visit  to  an  old  gossip — and  gently  indicates  the  heir-apparent  of 
the  Browns. 

"Bless  his  little  heart!  I  must  gi'  un  a  kiss.  Here  Susannah! 
Susannah!"  cries  she,  raising  herself  from  the  embrace,  "come 
and  see  Mr.  Benjamin  and  young  Master  Tom.  You  minds  our 
Sukey,  Mr.  Benjamin  .? — she  be  growed  a  rare  slip  of  a  wench 
since  you  seen  her,  tho'  her'll  be  sixteen  come  Martinmas.  I 
do  aim  to  take  her  to  see  madam  to  get  her  a  place." 

And  Sukey  comes  bouncing  away  from  a  knot  of  old  school- 
fellows and  drops  a  curtsey  to  Mr.  Benjamin.  And  elders  come 
up  from  all  parts  to  salute  Benjy,  and  girls  who  have  been 
madam's  pupils  to  kiss  Master  Tom.  And  they  carry  him  off  to 
load  him  with  fairings;  and  he  returns  to  Benjy,  his  hat  and  coat 
covered  with  ribands,  and  his  pockets  crammed  with  wonderful 
boxes  which  open  upon  ever  new  boxes  and  boxes,  and  popguns 

[3>] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

and  trumpets,  and  apples,  and  gilt  gingerbread  from  the  stall  of 
Angel  Heavens,  sole  vender  thereof,  whose  booth  groans  with 
kings  and  queens,  and  elephants,  and  prancing  steeds,  all  gleam- 
ing with  gold.  There  was  more  gold  on  Angel's  cakes  than  there 
is  ginger  in  those  of  this  degenerate  age.  Skilled  diggers  might 
yet  make  a  fortune  in  the  church-yards  of  the  Vale  by  carefully 
washing  the  dust  of  the  consumers  of  Angel's  gingerbread.  Alas! 
he  is  with  his  namesakes,  and  his  receipts  have,  I  fear,  died  with 
him. 

And  then  they  inspect  the  penny  peep-show,  at  least  Tom  does, 
while  old  Benjy  stands  outside  and  gossips,  and  walks  up  the 
steps,  and  enters  the  mysterious  doors  of  the  pink-eyed  lady  and 
the  Irish  giant,  who  do  not  by  any  means  come  up  to  their  pict- 
ures; and  the  boa  will  not  swallow  his  rabbit,  but  there  the  rabbit 
is,  waiting  to  be  swallowed — and  what  can  you  expect  for  tup- 
pence .?  We  are  easily  pleased  in  the  Vale.  Now  there  is  a  rush 
of  the  crowd,  and  a  tinkling  bell  is  heard,  and  shouts  of  laughter; 
and  Master  Tom  mounts  on  Benjy's  shoulders  and  beholds  a 
jingling-match  in  all  its  glory.  The  games  are  begun,  and  this  is 
the  opening  of  them.  It  is  a  quaint  game,  immensely  amusing 
to  look  at,  and,  as  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  used  in  your  counties, 
I  had  better  describe  it.  A  large  roped  ring  is  made,  into  which 
are  introduced  a  dozen  or  so  of  big  boys  and  young  men  who 
mean  to  play;  these  are  carefully  blinded  and  turned  loose  into 
the  ring,  and  then  a  man  is  introduced  not  blindfolded,  with  a 
bell  hung  round  his  neck  and  his  two  hands  tied  behind  him. 
Of  course,  every  time  he  moves  the  bell  must  ring,  as  he  has  no 
hand  to  hold  it,  and  so  the  dozen  blindfolded  men  have  to  catch 
him.  This  they  cannot  always  manage  if  he  is  a  lively  fellow, 
but  half  of  them  always  rush  into  the  arms  of  the  other  half,  or 
drive  their  heads  together,  or  tumble  over;  and  then  the  crowd 
laughs  vehemently,  and  invents  nicknames  for  them  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment,  and  they,  if  they  be  choleric,  tear  off  the  hand- 
kerchiefs which  blind  them,  and  not  unfrequently  pitch  into  one 

[3^] 


SCHOOL  DAYS 

another,  each  thinking  that  the  other  must  have  run  against  him 
on  purpose.  It  is  great  fun  to  look  at  a  jinghng-match,  certainly, 
and  Tom  shouts,  and  jumps  on  old  Benjy's  shoulders  at  the  sight, 
until  the  old  man  feels  weary  and  shifts  him  to  the  strong  young 
shoulders  of  the  groom,  who  has  just  got  down  to  the  fun. 

And  now,  while  they  are  climhing  the  pole  in  another  part  of 
the  field,  and  muzzling  in  a  flour-tub  in  another,  the  old  farmer 
whose  house,  as  has  been  said,  overlooks  the  field,  and  who  is 
master  of  the  revels,  gets  up  the  steps  onto  the  stage  and  an- 
nounces to  all  whom  it  may  concern  that  a  half-sovereign  in  money 
will  be  forthcoming  for  the  old  gamester  who  breaks  most  heads; 
to  which  the  squire  and  he  have  added  a  new  hat. 

The  amount  of  the  prize  is  sufficient  to  stimulate  the  men  of  the 
immediate  neighborhood,  but  not  enough  to  bring  any  very  high 
talent  from  a  distance;  so,  after  a  glance  or  two  round,  a  tall 
fellow,  who  is  a  down  shepherd,  chucks  his  hat  onto  the  stage 
and  climbs  up  the  steps  looking  rather  sheepish.  The  crowd,  of 
course,  first  cheer,  and  then  chafi^  as  usual,  as  he  picks  up  his  hat 
and  begins  handling  the  sticks  to  see  which  will  suit  him. 

"Wooy,  Willum  Smith,  thee  cans't  plaay  wi'  he  arra  daay," 
says  his  companion  to  the  blacksmith's  apprentice,  a  stout  young 
fellow  of  nineteen  or  twenty.  Willum's  sweetheart  is  in  the 
"veast"  somewhere,  and  has  strictly  enjoined  him  not  to  get  his 
head  broke  at  back-swording,  on  pain  of  her  highest  displeasure; 
but  as  she  is  not  to  be  seen  (the  women  pretend  not  to  like  to  see 
the  back-sword  play,  and  keep  away  from  the  stage),  and  as  his 
hat  is  decidedly  getting  old,  he  chucks  it  onto  the  stage,  and  fol- 
lows himself,  hoping  that  he  will  only  have  to  break  other  people's 
heads,  or  that,  after  all,  Rachel  won't  really  mind. 

Then  follows  the  greasy  cap  lined  with  fur  of  a  half-gypsy, 
poaching,  loafing  fellow,  who  travels  the  Vale  not  for  much  good, 
I  fancy: 

"Full  twenty  times  was  Peter  feared 
For  once  that  Peter  was  respected," 

[33] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

in  fact.  And  then  three  or  four  other  hats,  including  the  glossy 
castor  of  Joe  Willis,  the  self-elected  and  would-be  champion  of 
the  neighborhood,  a  well-to-do  young  butcher  of  twenty-eight  or 
thereabouts,  and  a  great,  strapping  fellow,  with  his  full  allowance 
of  bluster.  This  is  a  capital  show  of  gamesters,  considering  the 
amount  of  the  prize;  so  while  they  are  picking  their  sticks  and 
drawing  their  lots,  I  think  I  must  tell  you,  as  shortly  as  I  can, 
how  the  noble  game  of  back-sword  is  played;  for  it  is  sadly  gone 
out  of  late,  even  in  the  Vale,  and  maybe  you  have  never  seen  it. 

The  weapon  is  a  good,  stout  ash-stick,  with  a  large  basket 
handle,  heavier  and  somewhat  shorter  than  a  common  single- 
stick. The  players  are  called  "old  gamesters" — why,  I  can't  tell 
you — and  their  object  is  simply  to  break  one  another's  heads:  for 
the  moment  that  blood  runs  an  inch  anywhere  above  the  eyebrow 
the  old  gamester  to  whom  it  belongs  is  beaten,  and  has  to  stop. 
A  very  slight  blow  with  the  sticks  will  fetch  blood,  so  that  it  is  by 
no  means  a  punishing  pastime,  if  the  men  don't  play  on  purpose, 
and  savagely,  at  the  body  and  arms  of  their  adversaries.  The 
old  gamester  going  into  action  only  takes  off  his  hat  and  coat,  and 
arms  himself  with  a  stick;  he  then  loops  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand 
in  a  handkerchief  or  strap  which  he  fastens  round  his  left  leg, 
measuring  the  length,  so  that  when  he  draws  it  tight,  with  his  left 
elbow  in  the  air,  that  elbow  shall  just  reach  as  high  as  his  crown. 
Thus,  you  see,  so  long  as  he  chooses  to  keep  his  left  elbow  up, 
regardless  of  cuts,  he  has  a  perfect  guard  for  the  left  side  of  his 
head.  Then  he  advances  his  right  hand  above  and  in  front  of 
his  head,  holding  his  stick  across  so  that  its  point  projects  an  inch 
or  two  over  his  left  elbow,  and  thus  his  whole  head  is  completely 
guarded,  and  he  faces  his  man  armed  in  like  manner,  and  they 
stand  some  three  feet  apart,  often  nearer,  and  feint,  and  strike, 
and  return  at  each  other's  heads,  until  one  cries  '*Hold!"  or 
blood  flows;  in  the  first  case  they  are  allowed  a  minute's  time, 
and  go  on  again;  in  the  latter,  another  pair  of  gamesters  are  called 
on.     If  good  men  are  playing,  the  quickness  of  the  returns  is 

[34] 


THE  GYPSY  SCOWLS  AT  JOE 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

marvellous;  you  hear  the  rattle  like  that  a  boy  makes  drawing 
his  stick  along  palings,  only  heavier,  and  the  closeness  of  the  men 
in  action  to  each  other  gives  it  a  strange  interest  and  makes  a 
spell  at  back-swording  a  very  noble  sight. 

They  are  all  suited  now  with  sticks,  and  Joe  Willis  and  the 
gypsy  man  have  drawn  the  first  lot.  So  the  rest  lean  against  the 
rails  of  the  stage,  and  Joe  and  the  dark  man  meet  in  the  middle, 
the  boards  having  been  strewed  with  sawdust;  Joe's  white  shirt 
and  spotless  drab  breeches  and  boots  contrasting  with  the  gypsy's 
coarse  blue  shirt  and  dirty  green  velveteen  breeches  and  leather 
gaiters.  Joe  is  evidently  turning  up  his  nose  at  the  other,  and 
half  insulted  at  having  to  break  his  head. 

The  gypsy  is  a  tough,  active  fellow,  but  not  very  skilful  with 
his  weapon,  so  that  Joe's  weight  and  strength  tell  in  a  minute; 
he  is  too  heavy  metal  for  him — whack,  whack,  whack,  come  his 
blows,  breaking  down  the  gypsy's  guard  and  threatening  to  reach 
his  head  every  moment.  There  it  is  at  last — "Blood!  blood!" 
shout  the  spectators,  as  a  thin  stream  oozes  out  slowly  from  the 
roots  of  his  hair,  and  the  umpire  calls  to  them  to  stop.  The  gypsy 
scowls  at  Joe  under  his  brows  in  no  pleasant  manner,  while  Master 
Joe  swaggers  about  and  makes  attitudes,  and  thinks  himself,  and 
shows  that  he  thinks  himself,  the  greatest  man  in  the  field. 

Then  follow  several  stout  sets-to  between  the  other  candidates 
for  the  new  hat,  and  at  last  come  the  shepherd  and  Willum  Smith. 
This  is  the  crack  set-to  of  the  day.  They  are  both  in  famous 
wind,  and  there  is  no  crying  "  Hold ! "  The  shepherd  is  an  old  hand 
and  up  to  all  the  dodges;  he  tries  them  one  after  another,  and 
very  nearly  gets  at  Willum's  head  by  coming  in  near  and  playing 
over  his  guard  at  the  half-stick,  but  somehow  Willum  blunders 
through,  catching  the  stick  on  his  shoulders,  neck,  sides,  every 
now  and  then,  an^-where  but  on  his  head,  and  his  returns  are 
heavy  and  straight,  and  he  is  the  youngest  gamester  and  a  favorite 
in  the  parish,  and  his  gallant  stand  brings  down  shouts  and  cheers, 
and  the  knowing  ones  think  he'll  win  if  he  keeps  steady,  and  Tom 

[37] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

on  the  groom's  shoulder  holds  his  hands  together  and  can  hardly 
breathe  for  excitement. 

Alas  for  Willum!  His  sweetheart,  getting  tired  of  female  com- 
panionship, has  been  hunting  the  booths  to  see  where  he  can  have 
got  to,  and  now  catches  sight  of  him  on  the  stage  in  full  combat. 
She  flushes  and  turns  pale;  her  old  aunt  catches  hold  of  her,  say- 
ing, "Bless  'ee,  child,  doan't  'ee  go  a'nigst  it";  but  she  breaks 
away  and  runs  toward  the  stage  calling  his  name.  Willum  keeps 
up  his  guard  stoutly,  but  glances  for  a  moment  toward  the  voice. 
No  guard  will  do  it,  Willum,  without  the  eye.  The  shepherd  steps 
round  and  strikes,  and  the  point  of  his  stick  just  grazes  Willum's 
forehead,  fetching  off  the  skin,  and  the  blood  flows,  and  the 
umpire  cries  "Hold!"  and  poor  Willum's  chance  is  up  for  the  day. 
But  he  takes  it  very  well,  and  puts  on  his  old  hat  and  coat,  and 
goes  down  to  be  scolded  by  his  sweetheart  and  led  away  out  of 
mischief.     Tom  hears  him  say,  coaxingly,  as  he  walks  off: 

"Now  doan't  'ee,  Rachel!  I  wouldn't  ha'  done  it,  only  I  wanted 
summut  to  buy  'ee  a  fairing  wi',  and  I  be  as  vlush  o'  money  as  a 
twod  o'  veathers," 

"Thee  mind  what  I  tells  'ee,"  rejoins  Rachel,  saucily,  "and 
doan't  'ee  kep  blethering  about  fairings."  Tom  resolves  in  his 
heart  to  give  Willum  the  remainder  of  his  two  shillings  after  the 
back-swording. 

Joe  Willis  has  all  the  luck  to-day.  His  next  bout  ends  in  an 
easy  victory,  while  the  shepherd  has  a  tough  job  to  break  his 
second  head;  and  when  Joe  and  the  shepherd  meet,  and  the 
whole  circle  expect  and  hope  to  see  him  get  a  broken  crown,  the 
shepherd  slips  in  the  first  round  and  falls  against  the  rails,  hurting 
himself  so  that  the  old  farmer  will  not  let  him  go  on,  much  as  he 
wishes  to  try;  and  that  impostor  Joe  (for  he  is  certainly  not  the 
best  man)  struts  and  swaggers  about  the  stage  the  conquering 
gamester,  though  he  hasn't  had  five  minutes'  really  trying  play. 

Joe  takes  the  new  hat  in  his  hand,  and  puts  the  money  into  it, 
and  then,  as  if  a  thought  strikes  him  and  he  doesn't  think  his  vie- 

[38] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

tory  quite  acknowledged  down  below,  walks  to  each  face  of  the 
stage  and  looks  down,  shaking  the  money,  and  chaffing  as  how 
he'll  stake  hat  and  money  and  another  half-sovereign  "agin  any 
gamester  as  hasn't  played  already."  Cunning  Joe!  he  thus  gets 
rid  of  Willum  and  the  shepherd,  who  is  quite  fresh  again. 

No  one  seems  to  like  the  offer,  and  the  umpire  is  just  coming 
down,  when  a  queer  old  hat,  something  like  a  Doctor  of  Divinity's 
shovel,  is  chucked  onto  the  stage,  and  an  elderly,  quiet  man  steps 
out,  who  has  been  watching  the  play,  saying  he  should  like  to 
cross  a  stick  wi'  the  prodigalish  young  chap. 

The  crowd  cheer  and  begin  to  chaff  Joe,  who  turns  up  his  nose 
and  swaggers  across  to  the  sticks.  "Imp'dent  old  wosbird!"  says 
he,  **ril  break  the  bald  head  on  un  to  the  truth." 

The  old  boy  is  very  bald,  certainly,  and  the  blood  will  show  fast 
enough  if  you  can  touch  him,  Joe. 

He  takes  off  his  long  flapped  coat,  and  stands  up  in  a  long 
flapped  waistcoat,  which  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  might  have  worn 
when  it  was  new,  picks  out  a  stick,  and  is  ready  for  Master  Joe,  who 
loses  no  time,  but  begins  his  old  game — whack,  whack,  whack — 
trying  to  break  down  the  old  man's  guard  by  sheer  strength.  But 
it  won't  do — he  catches  every  blow  close  by  the  basket,  and,  though 
he  is  rather  stiff  in  his  returns,  after  a  minute  walks  Joe  about  the 
stage,  and  is  clearly  a  stanch  old  gamester.  Joe  now  comes  in, 
and,  making  the  most  of  his  height,  tries  to  get  over  the  old  man's 
guard  at  half-stick,  by  which  he  takes  a  smart  blow  in  the  ribs  and 
another  on  the  elbow,  and  nothing  more.  And  now  he  loses  wind 
and  begins  to  puff,  and  the  crowd  laugh,  "Cry  'Hold!'  Joe — thee'st 
met  thy  match!"  Instead  of  taking  good  advice  and  getting  his 
wind,  Joe  loses  his  temper  and  strikes  at  the  old  man's  body. 

"Blood!  blood!"  shout  the  crowd — "Joe's  head's  broke!" 

Who'd  have  thought  it  ?  How  did  it  come  ?  That  body-blow 
left  Joe's  head  unguarded  for  a  moment,  and  with  one  turn  of  the 
wrist  the  old  gentleman  has  picked  a  neat  little  bit  of  skin  off  the 
middle  of  his  forehead,  and,  though  he  won't  believe  it,  and  ham- 

[39] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

mers  on  for  three  more  blows  despite  of  the  shouts,  is  then  con- 
vinced by  the  blood  trickling  into  his  eye.  Poor  Joe  is  sadly 
crestfallen,  and  fumbles  in  his  pocket  for  the  other  half-sovereign; 
but  the  old  gamester  won't  have  it.  "Keep  thy  money,  man,  and 
gi's  thy  hand,"  says  he,  and  they  shake  hands;  but  the  old  game- 
ster gives  the  new  hat  to  the  shepherd  and,  soon  after,  the  half- 
sovereign  to  Willum,  who  thereout  decorates  his  sweetheart  with 
ribbons  to  his  heart's  content. 

"Who  can  a  be  ?"  " Wur  do  a  cum  from  .?"  ask  the  crowd.  And 
it  soon  flies  about  that  the  old  west-country  champion,  who  played 
a  tie  with  Shaw,  the  Life-guardsman  at  "Vizes"  twenty  years 
before,  has  broken  Joe  Willis's  crown  for  him. 

How  my  country  fair  is  spinning  out!  I  see  I  must  skip  the 
wrestling,  and  the  boys  jumping  in  sacks  and  rolling  wheel- 
barrows blindfolded;  and  the  donkey-race,  and  the  fight  which 
arose  thereout,  marring  the  otherwise  peaceful  '*veast";  and  the 
frightened  scurrying  away  of  the  female  feast-goers,  and  descent 
of  Squire  Brown,  summoned  by  the  wife  of  one  of  the  combatants 
to  stop  it;  which  he  wouldn't  start  to  do  till  he  had  got  on  his  top- 
boots.  Tom  is  carried  away  by  old  Benjy,  dog-tired  and  surfeited 
with  pleasure,  as  the  evening  comes  on  and  the  dancing  begins 
in  the  booths;  and  though  Willum  and  Rachel,  in  her  new  ribbons, 
and  many  another  good  lad  and  lass  don't  come  away  just  yet, 
but  have  a  good  step  out,  and  enjoy  it,  and  get  no  harm  thereby, 
yet  we,  being  sober  folk,  will  just  stroll  away  up  through  the 
church-yard  and  by  the  old  yew-tree,  and  get  a  quiet  dish  of  tea 
and  a  parle  with  our  gossips,  as  the  steady  ones  of  our  village 
do,  and  so  to  bed. 

That's  the  fair  true  sketch,  as  far  as  it  goes,  of  one  of  the  larger 
village  feasts  in  the  Vale  of  Berks  when  I  was  a  little  boy.  They 
are  much  altered  for  the  worse,  I  am  told.  I  haven't  been  at  one 
these  twenty  years,  but  I  have  been  at  the  statute  fairs  in  some 
west-country  towns,  where  servants  are  hired,  and  greater  abomi- 
nations cannot  be  found.     What  village  feasts  have  come  to,  I 

[40] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

fear,  in  many  cases,  may  be  read  in  the  pages  of  Teast  (though  I 
never  saw  one  so  bad — thank  God!). 

Do  you  want  to  know  why  ?  It  is  because,  as  I  said  before, 
gentlefolk  and  farmers  have  left  off  joining  or  taking  an  interest 
in  them.  They  don't  either  subscribe  to  the  prizes  or  go  down 
and  enjoy  the  fun. 

Is  this  a  good  or  a  bad  sign  .?  I  hardly  know.  Bad,  sure 
enough,  if  it  only  arises  from  the  further  separation  of  classes 
consequent  on  twenty  years  of  buying  cheap  and  selling  dear, 
and  its  accompanying  overwork;  or  because  our  sons  and  daugh- 
ters have  their  hearts  in  London  club-life,  or  so-called  society,  in- 
stead of  in  the  old  English  home  duties;  because  farmers'  sons 
are  aping  fine  gentlemen,  and  farmers'  daughters  caring  more 
to  make  bad  foreign  music  than  good  B.nglish  cheeses.  Good, 
perhaps,  if  it  be  that  the  time  for  the  old  "veast"  has  gone  by, 
that  it  is  no  longer  the  healthy,  sound  expression  of  English 
country  holiday-making;  that,  in  fact,  we  as  a  nation  have  got 
beyond  it,  and  are  in  a  transition  state,  feeling  for  and  soon  likely 
to  find  some  better  substitute. 

Only  I  have  just  got  this  to  say  before  I  quit  the  text.  Don't 
let  reformers  of  any  sort  think  that  they  are  going  really  to  lay 
hold  of  the  working  boys  and  young  men  of  England  by  any 
educational  grapnel  whatever  which  hasn't  some  bona-fide  equiva- 
lent for  the  games  of  the  old  country  "veast"  in  it;  something  to 
put  in  the  place  of  the  back-swording  and  wrestling  and  racing; 
something  to  try  the  muscles  of  men's  bodies  and  the  endurance 
of  their  hearts,  and  to  make  them  rejoice  in  their  strength.  In  all 
the  new-fangled,  comprehensive  plans  which  I  see,  this  is  all  left 
out;  and  the  consequence  is  that  your  great  Mechanics'  Institutes 
end  in  intellectual  priggism,  and  your  Christian  Young  Men's 
Societies  in  religious  Pharisaism. 

Well,  well,  we  must  bide  our  time.  Life  isn't  all  beer  and 
skittles — but  beer  and  skittles,  or  something  better  of  the  same 
sort,  must  form  a  good  part  of  every  Englishman's  education.     If 

5  [41] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

I  could  only  drive  this  into  the  heads  of  you  rising  Parliamentary 
lords  and  young  swells  who  "have  your  ways  made  for  you,"  as 
the  saying  is — you  who  frequent  palaver-houses  and  West-end 
clubs,  waiting  always  ready  to  strap  yourselves  onto  the  back 
of  poor,  dear  old  John  as  soon  as  the  present  used-up  lot  (your 
fathers  and  uncles),  who  sit  there  on  the  great  Parliamentary- 
majorities'  pack-saddle  and  make  believe  they're  guiding  him 
with  their  red-tape  bridle,  tumble  or  have  to  be  lifted  off! 

I  don't  think  much  of  you  yet — I  wish  I  could;  though  you  do 
go  talking  and  lecturing  up  and  down  the  country  to  crowded 
audiences,  and  are  busy  with  all  sorts  of  philanthropic  intellect- 
ualism  and  circulating  libraries  and  museums,  and  Heaven  only 
knows  what  besides,  and  try  to  make  us  think,  through  newspaper 
reports,  that  you  are,  even  as  we,  of  the  working  classes.  But, 
bless  your  hearts,  we  "ain't  so  green,"  though  lots  of  us  of  all 
sorts  toady  you  enough  certainly,  and  try  to  make  you  think  so. 

I'll  tell  you  what  to  do  now:  instead  of  all  this  trumpeting  and 
fuss,  which  is  only  the  old  Parliamentary-majority  dodge  over 
again,  just  you  go  each  of  you  (you've  plenty  of  time  for  it,  if 
you'll  only  give  up  t'other  line)  and  quietly  make  three  or  four 
friends,  real  friends,  among  us.  You'll  find  a  little  trouble  in 
getting  at  the  right  sort,  because  such  birds  don't  come  lightly 
to  your  lure — but  found  they  may  be.  Take,  say,  two  out  of  the 
professions — lawyer,  parson,  doctor — which  you  will;  one  out  of 
trade,  and  three  or  four  out  of  the  working  classes — tailors,  en- 
gineers, carpenters,  engravers — there's  plenty  of  choice.  Let 
them  be  men  of  your  own  ages,  mind,  and  ask  them  to  your 
homes;  introduce  them  to  your  wives  and  sisters,  and  get  intro- 
duced to  theirs;  give  them  good  dinners,  and  talk  to  them  about 
what  is  really  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart,  and  box,  and  run,  and 
row  with  them,  when  you  have  a  chance.  Do  all  this  honestly 
as  man  to  man,  and  by  the  time  you  come  to  ride  old  John  you'll 
be  able  to  do  something  more  than  sit  on  his  back,  and  may  feel 
his  mouth  with  some  stronger  bridle  than  a  red-tape  one. 

[4a] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

Ah,  if  you  only  would!  But  you  have  got  too  far  out  of  the 
rliiht  rut,  I  fear.  Too  much  over-civilization  and  the  deceitful- 
ness  of  riches.  It  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye 
of  a  needle.  More's  the  pity.  I  never  came  across  but  two  of 
you  who  could  value  a  man  wholly  and  solely  for  what  was  in 
him,  who  thought  themselves  verily  and  indeed  of  the  same  flesh 
and  blood  as  John  Jones,  the  attorney's  clerk,  and  Bill  Smith, 
the  costermonger,  and  could  act  as  if  they  thought  so. 


TOM    BROWN'S 


SUNDRY   WARS    AND    ALLIANCES 


OOR  old  Ben jy !  The  "  rheumatiz  "  has  much 
to  answer  for  all  through  English  country- 
sides, but  it  never  played  a  scurvier  trick 
than  in  laying  thee  by  the  heels  when  thou 
was  yet  in  a  green  old  age.  The  enemy, 
which  had  long  been  carrying  on  a  sort  of 
border  warfare,  and  trying  his  strength 
against  Benjy's  on  the  battle-field  of  his  hands  and  legs,  now, 
mustering  all  his  forces,  began  laying  siege  to  the  citadel  and 
overrunning  the  whole  country.  Benjy  was  seized  in  the  back 
and  loins;  and  though  he  made  strong  and  brave  fight,  it  was 
soon  clear  enough  that  all  which  could  be  beaten  of  poor  old 
Benjy  would  have  to  give  in  before  long. 

It  was  as  much  as  he  could  do  now,  with  the  help  of  his  big 
stick  and  frequent  stops,  to  hobble  down  to  the  canal  with  Master 
Tom,  and  bait  his  hook  for  him,  and  sit  and  watch  his  angling, 
telling  him  quaint  old  country  stories;    and  when  Tom  had  no 

[44] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

sport,  and,  detecting  a  rat  some  hundred  yards  or  so  off  along  the 
bank,  would  rush  off  with  Toby  the  turnspit  terrier,  his  other 
faithful  companion,  in  bootless  pursuit,  he  might  have  tumbled 
in  and  been  drowned  twenty  times  over  before  Benjy  could  have 
got  near  him. 

Cheery  and  unmindful  of  himself  as  Benjy  was,  this  loss  of 
locomotive  power  bothered  him  greatly.  He  had  got  a  new  object 
in  his  old  age,  and  was  just  beginning  to  think  himself  useful  again 
in  the  world.  He  feared  much,  too,  lest  Master  Tom  should  fall 
back  again  into  the  hands  of  Charity  and  the  women.  So  he  tried 
everything  he  could  think  of  to  get  set  up.  He  even  went  an 
expedition  to  the  dwelling  of  one  of  those  queer  mortals  who — 
say  what  we  will,  and  reason  how  we  will — do  cure  simple  people 
of  diseases  of  one  kind  or  another  without  the  aid  of  physic,  and 
so  get  to  themselves  the  reputation  of  using  charms,  and  inspire 
for  themselves  and  their  dwellings  great  respect,  not  to  say  fear, 
among  a  simple  folk  such  as  the  dwellers  in  the  Vale  of  White 
Horse,  Where  this  power,  or  whatever  else  it  may  be,  descends 
upon  the  shoulders  of  a  man  whose  ways  are  not  straight,  he  be- 
comes a  nuisance  to  the  neighborhood:  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods, 
giver  of  love-potions,  and  deceiver  of  silly  women;  the  avowed 
enemy  of  law  and  order,  of  justices  of  the  peace,  head-boroughs, 
and  gamekeepers.  Such  a  man,  in  fact,  as  was  recently  caught 
tripping,  and  deservedly  dealt  with  by  the  Leeds  justices  for 
seducing  a  girl  who  had  come  to  him  to  get  back  a  faithless  lover, 
and  has  been  convicted  of  bigamy  since  then.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, they  are  of  quite  a  different  stamp,  men  who  pretend  to 
nothing  and  are  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  exercise  their  occult 
arts  in  the  simplest  cases. 

Of  this  latter  sort  was  old  farmer  Ives,  as  he  was  called,  the 
"wise  man"  to  whom  Benjy  resorted  (taking  Tom  with  him,  as 
usual)  in  the  early  spring  of  the  year  next  after  the  feast  described 
in  the  last  chapter.  Why  he  was  called  ''farmer"  I  cannot  say, 
unless  it  be  that  he  was  the  owner  of  a  cow,  a  pig  or  two,  and  some 

[45] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

poultry,  which  he  maintained  on  about  an  acre  of  land  enclosed 
from  the  middle  of  a  wild  common,  on  which  probably  his  father 
had  squatted  before  lords  of  manors  looked  as  keenly  after  their 
rights  as  they  do  now.  Here  he  had  lived  no  one  knew  how  long, 
a  solitary  man.  It  was  often  rumored  that  he  was  to  be  turned 
out  and  his  cottage  pulled  down,  but  somehow  it  never  came  to 
pass;  and  his  pigs  and  cow  went  grazing  on  the  common,  and  his 
geese  hissed  at  the  passing  children  and  at  the  heels  of  the  horse 
of  my  lord's  steward,  who  often  rode  by  with  a  covetous  eye  on  the 
enclosure,  still  unmolested.  His  dwelling  was  some  miles  from 
our  village;  so  Benjy,  who  was  half  ashamed  of  his  errand,  and 
wholly  unable  to  walk  there,  had  to  exercise  much  ingenuity  to  get 
the  means  of  transporting  himself  and  Tom  thither  without  ex- 
citing suspicion.  However,  one  fine  May  morning  he  managed 
to  borrow  the  old  blind  pony  of  our  friend  the  publican,  and  Tom 
persuaded  Madam  Brown  to  give  him  a  holiday  to  spend  with  old 
Benjy,  and  to  lend  them  the  squire's  light  cart,  stored  with  bread 
and  cold  meat  and  a  bottle  of  ale.  And  so  the  two  in  high  glee 
started  behind  old  Dobbin,  and  jogged  along  the  deep-rutted, 
plashy  roads,  which  had  not  been  mended  after  their  winter's 
wear,  toward  the  dwelling  of  the  wizard.  About  noon  they  passed 
the  gate  which  opened  onto  the  large  common,  and  old  Dobbin 
toiled  slowly  up  the  hill,  while  Benjy  pointed  out  a  little,  deep 
dingle  on  the  left,  out  of  which  welled  a  tiny  stream.  As  they 
crept  up  the  hill  the  tops  of  a  few  birch-trees  came  in  sight,  and 
blue  smoke  curling  up  through  their  delicate,  light  boughs;  and 
then  the  little,  white,  thatched  home  and  patch  of  enclosed  ground 
of  farmer  Ives,  lying  cradled  in  the  dingle,  with  the  gay  gorse 
common  rising  behind  and  on  both  sides;  while  in  front,  after 
traversing  a  gentle  slope,  the  eye  might  travel  for  miles  and  miles 
over  the  rich  vale.  They  now  left  the  main  road  and  struck  into 
a  green  tract  over  the  common  marked  lightly  with  wheel  and 
horseshoe,  which  led  down  into  the  dingle  and  stopped  at  the 
rough  gate  of  farmer  Ives.     Here  they  found  the  farmer,  an  iron- 

[46] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

gray  old  man,  with  a  bushy  eyebrow  and  strong,  aquiline  nose, 
busied  in  one  of  his  vocations.  He  was  a  horse  and  cow  doctor, 
and  was  tending  a  sick  beast  which  had  been  sent  up  to  be  cured. 
Benjy  hailed  him  as  an  old  friend,  and  he  returned  the  greeting 
cordially  enough,  looking,  however,  hard  for  a  moment  both  at 
Benjy  and  Tom,  to  see  whether  there  was  more  in  their  visit  than 
appeared  at  first  sight.  It  was  a  work  of  some  difficulty  and  dan- 
ger for  Benjy  to  reach  the  ground,  which,  however,  he  managed 
to  do  without  mishap;  and  then  he  devoted  himself  to  unharness- 
ing Dobbin  and  turning  him  out  for  a  graze  ("a  run"  one  could 
not  say  of  that  virtuous  steed)  on  the  common.  This  done,  he 
extricated  the  cold  provisions  from  the  cart,  and  they  entered  the 
farmer's  wicket;  and  he,  shutting  up  the  knife  with  which  he  was 
taking  maggots  out  of  the  cow's  back  and  sides,  accompanied 
them  toward  the  cottage.  A  big,  old  lurcher  got  up  slowly  from 
the  door-stone,  stretching  first  one  h  nd-leg  and  then  the  other, 
and  taking  Tom's  caresses  and  the  presence  of  Toby,  who  kept, 
however,  at  a  respectful  distance,  with  equal  indifference. 

**Us  be  cum  to  pay  'e  a  visit.  I've  a-been  long  minded  to 
do  't  for  old  sake's  sake,  only  I  vinds  I  dwon't  get  about  now 
as  I'd  use  to  't.  I  be  so  plaguey  bad  wi'  th'  rheumatiz  in  my 
back."  Benjy  paused,  in  hopes  of  drawing  the  farmer  at  once 
on  the  subject  of  his  ailment  without  further  direct  application. 

"Ah,  I  see  as  you  bean't  quite  so  lissom  as  you  was,"  replied 
the  farmer,  with  a  grim  smile,  as  he  lifted  the  latch  of  his  door; 
**we  bean't  so  young  as  we  was,  nother  on  us,  wuss  luck." 

The  farmer's  cottage  was  very  like  those  of  the  better  class  of 
peasantry  in  general.  A  snug  chimney-corner  w^ith  two  seats,  and 
a  small  carpet  on  the  hearth,  an  old  flint  gun  and  a  pair  of  spurs 
over  the  fireplace,  a  dresser  with  shelves  on  which  some  bright 
pewter  plates  and  crockeryware  w^ere  arranged,  an  old  walnut 
table,  a  few  chairs  and  settles,  some  framed  samplers,  and  an  old 
print  or  two,  and  a  bookcase  with  some  dozen  volumes  on  the 
walls,  a  rack  with  flitches  of  bacon  and  other  stores  fastened  to 

[47] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

the  ceiling,  and  you  have  the  best  part  of  the  furniture.  No  sign 
of  occult  art  is  to  be  seen,  unless  the  bundles  of  dried  herbs  hang- 
ing to  the  rack  and  in  the  ingle,  and  the  row  of  labelled  phials  on 
one  of  the  shelves,  betoken  it. 

Tom  played  about  with  some  kittens  who  occupied  the  hearth, 
and  with  a  goat  who  walked  demurely  in  at  the  open  door,  while 
their  host  and  Benjy  spread  the  table  for  dinner — and  was  soon 
engaged  in  conflict  with  the  cold  meat,  to  which  he  did  much 
honor.  The  two  old  men's  talk  was  of  old  comrades  and  their 
deeds,  mute,  inglorious  Miltons  of  the  Vale,  and  of  the  doings 
thirty  years  back — ^whlch  didn't  Interest  him  much,  except  when 
they  spoke  of  the  making  of  the  canal,  and  then  Indeed  he  began 
to  listen  with  all  his  ears,  and  learned  to  his  no  small  wonder  that 
his  dear  and  wonderful  canal  had  not  been  there  always — was 
not.  In  fact,  so  old  as  Benjy  or  farmer  Ives,  which  caused  a 
strange  commotion  In  his  small  brain. 

After  dinner  Benjy  called  attention  to  a  wart  which  Tom  had 
on  the  knuckles  of  his  hand,  and  which  the  family  doctor  had 
been  trying  his  skill  on  without  success,  and  begged  the  farmer 
to  charm  It  away.  Farmer  Ives  looked  at  it,  muttered  something 
or  another  over  it,  and  cut  some  notches  in  a  short  stick,  which 
he  handed  to  Benjy,  giving  him  instructions  for  cutting  It  down 
on  certain  days,  and  cautioning  Tom  not  to  meddle  with  the 
wart  for  a  fortnight.  And  then  they  strolled  out  and  sat  on  a 
bench  In  the  sun  with  their  pipes,  and  the  pigs  came  up  and 
grunted  sociably  and  let  Tom  scratch  them;  and  the  farmer, 
seeing  how  he  liked  animals,  stood  up  and  held  his  arms  in  the 
air  and  gave  a  call,  which  brought  a  flock  of  pigeons  wheeling 
and  dashing  through  the  birch-trees.  They  settled  down  in 
clusters  on  the  farmer's  arms  and  shoulders,  making  love  to  him 
and  scrambling  over  one  another's  backs  to  get  to  his  face;  and 
then  he  threw  them  all  off*,  and  they  fluttered  about  close  by,  and 
lighted  on  him  again  and  again  when  he  held  up  his  arms.  All 
the  creatures  about  the  place  were  clean  and  fearless,  quite  unlike 

[4S] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

their  relations  elsewhere;  and  Tom  begged  to  be  taught  how  to 
make  all  the  pigs  and  cows  and  poultry  in  our  village  tame,  at 
which  the  farmer  only  gave  one  of  his  grim  chuckles. 

It  wasn't  till  they  were  just  ready  to  go,  and  old  Dobbin  was 
harnessed,  that  Benjy  broached  the  subject  of  his  rheumatism 
.again,  detailing  his  symptoms  one  by  one.  Poor  old  boy!  He 
hoped  the  farmer  could  charm  it  away  as  easily  as  he  could 
Tom's  wart,  and  was  ready  with  equal  faith  to  put  another 
notched  stick  into  his  other  pocket  for  the  cure  of  his  own  ail- 
ments. The  physician  shook  his  head,  but  nevertheless  pro- 
duced a  bottle  and  handed  it  to  Benjy  with  instructions  for  use. 
"Not  as  't  '11  do  'e  much  good — leastways  I  be  afeared  not,"  shad- 
ing his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  looking  up  at  them  in  the  cart; 
"there's  only  one  thing  as  I  knows  on  as  '11  cure  old  folks  like 
you  and  I  o'  th'  rheumatiz." 

"Wot  be  that,  then,  farmer?"  inquired  Benjy. 

"Church-yard  mould,"  said  the  old,  iron-gray  man,  with  an- 
other chuckle.  And  so  they  said  their  good-byes  and  went  their 
ways  home.  Tom's  wart  was  gone  in  a  fortnight,  but  not  so 
Benjy's  rheumatism,  which  laid  him  by  the  heels  more  and  more. 
And  though  Tom  still  spent  many  an  hour  with  him,  as  he  sat 
on  a  bench  in  the  sunshine,  or  by  the  chimney-corner  when  it  was 
cold,  he  soon  had  to  seek  elsewhere  for  his  regular  companions. 

Tom  had  been  accustomed  often  to  accompany  his  mother  in 
her  visits  to  the  cottages,  and  had  thereby  made  acquaintance 
with  many  of  the  village  boys  of  his  own  age.  There  was  Job 
Rudkin,  son  of  widow  Rudkin,  the  most  bustling  woman  in  the 
parish.  How  she  could  ever  have  had  such  a  stolid  boy  as  Job 
for  a  child  must  always  remain  a  mystery.  The  first  time  Tom 
went  to  their  cottage  with  hh  mother  Job  was  not  indoors,  but 
he  entered  soon  after,  and  stood  with  both  hands  in  his  pockets 
staring  at  Tom.  Widow  Rudkin,  who  would  have  had  to  cross 
madam  to  get  at  young  Hopeful — a  breach  of  good  manners  of 
which  she  was  wholly  incapable — began  a  series  of  pantomime 

[49] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

signs,  which  only  puzzled  him,  and  at  last,  unable  to  contain  her- 
self longer,  burst  out  with,  "Job!   Job!   where's  thy  cap  ?" 

"What!  bean't  'e  on  ma'  head,  mother?"  replied  Job,  slowly 
extricating  one  hand  from  a  pocket  and  feeling  for  the  article  in 
question;  which  he  found  on  his  head,  sure  enough,  and  left 
there,  to  his  mother's  horror  and  Tom's  great  delight. 

Then  there  was  poor  Jacob  Dodson,  the  half-witted  boy,  who 
ambled  about  cheerfully,  undertaking  messages  and  little  helpful 
odds  and  ends  for  every  one,  which,  however,  poor  Jacob  man- 
aged always  hopelessly  to  embrangle.  Everything  came  to  pieces 
in  his  hands,  and  nothing  would  stop  in  his  head.  They  nick- 
named him  Jacob  Doodle-calf. 

But,  above  all,  there  was  Harry  Winburn,  the  quickest  and  best 
boy  in  the  parish.  He  might  be  a  year  older  than  Tom,  but  was 
very  little  bigger,  and  he  was  the  Crichton  of  our  village  boys. 
He  could  wrestle  and  climb  and  run  better  than  all  the  rest,  and 
learned  all  that  the  schoolmaster  could  teach  him  faster  than 
that  worthy  at  all  liked.  He  was  a  boy  to  be  proud  of,  with  his 
curly  brown  hair,  keen  gray  eye,  straight  active  figure,  and  little 
ears  and  hands  and  feet, "as  fine  as  a  lord's,"  as  Charity  remarked 
to  Tom  one  day,  talking  as  usual  great  nonsense.  Lords'  hands 
and  ears  and  feet  are  just  as  ugly  as  other  folks'  when  they  are 
children,  as  any  one  may  convince  themselves  if  they  like  to  look. 
Tight  boots  and  gloves,  and  doing  nothing  with  them,  I  allow, 
make  a  difference  by  the  time  they  are  twenty. 

Now  that  Benjy  was  laid  on  the  shelf,  and  his  young  brothers 
were  still  under  petticoat  government,  Tom,  in  search  of  com- 
panions, began  to  cultivate  the  village  boys  generally  more  and 
more.  Squire  Brown,  be  it  said,  was  a  true-blue  Tory  to  the 
backbone,  and  believed  honestly  that  the  powers  which  be  were 
ordained  of  God,  and  that  loyalty  and  steadfast  obedience  were 
men's  first  duties.  Whether  it  were  in  consequence  or  in  spite 
of  his  political  creed,  I  do  not  mean  to  give  an  opinion,  though 
I  have  one;  but  certain  it  is  that  he  held  therewith  divers  social 

[50] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

principles  not  generally  supposed  to  be  true  blue  in  color.  Fore- 
most of  these,  and  the  one  which  the  squire  loved  to  propound 
above  all  others,  was  the  belief  that  a  man  is  to  be  valued  wholly 
and  solely  for  that  which  he  is  in  himself,  for  that  which  stands 
up  in  the  four  fleshly  walls  of  him,  apart  from  clothes,  rank,  fort- 
une, and  all  externals  whatsoever.  Which  belief  I  take  to  be  a 
wholesome  corrective  of  all  political  opinions,  and,  if  held  sincere- 
ly, to  make  all  opinions  equally  harmless,  whether  they  be  blue, 
red,  or  green.  As  a  necessary  corollary  to  this  belief.  Squire 
Brown  held  further  that  it  didn't  matter  a  straw  whether  his  son 
associated  with  lords'  sons  or  ploughmen's  sons,  provided  they 
were  brave  and  honest.  He  himself  had  played  football  and 
gone  bird's-nesting  with  the  farmers  whom  he  met  at  vestry  and 
the  laborers  who  tilled  tlieir  fields,  and  so  had  his  father  and 
grandfather,  with  their  progenitors.  So  he  encouraged  Tom  in 
his  intimacy  with  the  boys  of  the  village,  and  forwarded  it  by  all 
means  in  his  power,  and  gave  them  the  run  of  a  close  for  a  play- 
ground, and  provided  bats  and  balls  and  a  football  for  their 
sports. 

Our  village  was  blessed  among  other  things  with  a  well- 
endowed  school.  The  building  stood  by  itself,  apart  from  the 
master's  house,  on  an  angle  of  ground  where  three  roads  met;  an 
old  gray  stone  building  with  a  steep  roof  and  mullioned  windows. 
On  one  of  the  opposite  angles  stood  Squire  Brown's  stables  and 
kennel,  with  their  backs  to  the  road,  over  which  towered  a  great 
elm-tree;  on  the  third  stood  the  village  carpenter  and  wheel- 
wright's large  open  shop,  and  his  house  and  the  schoolmaster's, 
with  long,  low  eaves  under  which  the  swallows  built  by  scores. 

"1  he  moment  Tom's  lessons  were  over,  he  would  now  get  him 
down  to  this  corner  by  the  stables,  and  watch  till  the  boys  came 
out  of  school.  He  prevailed  on  the  groom  to  cut  notches  for  him 
in  the  bark  of  the  elm,  so  that  he  could  climb  into  the  lower 
branches,  and  there  he  would  sit  watching  the  school  door,  and 
speculating  on  the  possibility  of  turning  the  elm  into  a  dwelling- 

[5'] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

place  for  himself  and  friends  after  the  manner  of  the  Swiss  Family 
Robinson.  But  the  school  hours  were  long  and  Tom's  patience 
short,  so  that  soon  he  began  to  descend  into  the  street,  and  go  and 
peep  in  at  the  school  door  and  the  wheelwright's  shop,  and  look 
out  for  something  to  while  away  the  time.  Now  the  wheelwright 
was  a  choleric  man,  and,  one  fine  afternoon,  returning  from  a 
short  absence,  found  Tom  occupied  with  one  of  his  pet  adzes,  the 
edge  of  which  was  fast  vanishing  under  our  hero's  care.  A  speedy 
flight  saved  Tom  from  all  but  one  sound  cuff  on  the  ears,  but  he 
resented  this  unjustifiable  interruption  of  his  first  essays  at  car- 
pentering, and  still  more  the  further  proceedings  of  the  wheel- 
wright, who  cut  a  switch  and  hung  it  over  the  door  of  his  workshop, 
threatening  to  use  it  upon  Tom  if  he  came  within  twenty  yards  of 
his  gate.  So  Tom,  to  retaliate,  commenced  a  war  upon  the  swal- 
lows who  dwelt  under  the  wheelwright's  eaves,  whom  he  harassed 
with  sticks  and  stones,  and  being  fleeter  of  foot  than  his  enemy, 
escaped  all  punishment  and  kept  him  in  perpetual  anger.  More- 
over, his  presence  about  the  school  door  began  to  incense  the 
master,  as  the  boys  in  that  neighborhood  neglected  their  lessons 
in  consequence:  and  more  than  once  he  issued  into  the  porch,  rod 
in  hand,  just  as  Tom  beat  a  hasty  retreat.  And  he  and  the  wheel- 
wright, laying  their  heads  together,  resolved  to  acquaint  the  squire 
with  Tom's  afternoon  occupations;  but  in  order  to  do  it  with 
effect,  determined  to  take  him  captive  and  lead  him  away  to 
judgment  fresh  from  his  evil  doings.  This  they  would  have  found 
some  difficulty  in  doing  had  Tom  continued  the  war  single-handed, 
or  rather  single-footed,  for  he  would  have  taken  to  the  deepest 
part  of  Pebbly  Brook  to  escape  them;  but,  like  other  active  powers, 
he  was  ruined  by  his  alliances.  Poor  Jacob  Doodle-calf  could  not 
go  to  school  with  the  other  boys,  and  one  fine  afternoon,  about 
three  o'clock  (the  school  broke  up  at  four),  Tom  found  him 
ambling  about  the  street,  and  pressed  him  into  a  visit  to  the  school 
porch.  Jacob,  always  ready  to  do  what  he  was  asked,  consented, 
and  the  two  stole  down  to  the  school  together.     Tom  first  recon- 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

noitred  the  wheelwright's  shop,  and  seeing  no  signs  of  activity, 
thought  all  safe  in  that  quarter,  and  ordered  at  once  an  advance 
of  all  his  troops  upon  the  school  porch.  The  door  of  the  school 
was  ajar,  and  the  boys  seated  on  the  nearest  bench  at  once  recog- 
nized and  opened  a  correspondence  with  the  invaders.  Tom, 
waxing  bold,  kept  putting  his  head  into  the  school  and  making 
faces  at  the  master  when  his  back  was  turned.  Poor  Jacob,  not 
in  the  least  comprehending  the  situation,  and  in  high  glee  at  find- 
ing himself  so  near  the  school,  which  he  had  never  been  allowed 
to  enter,  suddenly,  in  a  fit  of  enthusiasm,  pushed  by  Tom,  and 
ambling  three  steps  into  the  school,  stood  there,  looking  round 
him  and  nodding  with  a  self- approving  smile.  The  master, 
who  was  stooping  over  a  boy's  slate,  with  his  back  to  the 
door,  became  aware  of  something  unusual,  and  turned  quickly 
round.  Tom  rushed  at  Jacob,  and  began  dragging  him  back  by 
his  smock-frock,  and  the  master  made  at  them,  scattering  forms 
and  boys  in  his  career.  Even  now  they  might  have  escaped,  but 
that  in  the  porch,  barring  retreat,  appeared  the  crafty  wheelwright, 
who  had  been  watching  all  their  proceedings.  So  they  were 
seized,  the  school  dismissed,  and  Tom  and  Jacob  led  away  to 
Squire  Brown  as  lawful  prize,  the  boys  following  to  the  gate  in 
groups,  and  speculating  on  the  result. 

The  squire  was  very  angry  at  first,  but  the  interview,  by  Tom's 
pleading,  ended  in  a  compromise.  Tom  was  not  to  go  near  the 
school  till  three  o'clock,  and  only  then  if  he  had  done  his  own 
lessons  well,  in  which  case  he  was  to  be  the  bearer  of  a  note  to  the 
master  from  Squire  Brown,  and  the  master  agreed  in  such  case  to 
release  ten  or  twelve  of  the  best  boys  an  hour  before  the  time  of 
breaking  up,  to  go  off  and  play  in  the  close.  The  wheelwright's 
adzes  and  swallows  were  to  be  forever  respected;  and  that  hero 
and  the  master  withdrew  to  the  servants'  hall,  to  drink  the  squire's 
health,  well  satisfied  with  their  day's  work. 

The  second  act  of  Tom's  life  may  now  be  said  to  have  begun. 
The  war  of  independence  had  been  over  for  some  time:  none  of 

[53] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

the  women  now,  not  even  his  mother's  maid,  dared  offer  to  help 
him  in  dressing  or  washing.  Between  ourselves,  he  had  often  at 
first  to  run  to  Benjy  in  an  unfinished  state  of  toilet;  Charity  and 
the  rest  of  them  seemed  to  take  a  delight  in  putting  impossible 
buttons  and  ties  in  the  middle  of  his  back;  but  he  would  have  gone 
without  nether  integuments  altogether  sooner  than  have  had  re- 
course to  female  valeting.  He  had  a  room  to  himself,  and  his 
father  gave  him  sixpence  a  week  pocket-money.  All  this  he  had 
achieved  by  Benjy's  advice  and  assistance.  But  now  he  had 
conquered  another  step  in  life,  the  step  which  all  real  boys  so  long 
to  make;  he  had  got  among  his  equals  in  age  and  strength,  and 
could  measure  himself  with  other  boys;  he  lived  with  those  whose 
pursuits  and  wishes  and  ways  were  the  same  in  kind  as  his  own. 

The  little  governess,  who  had  lately  been  installed  in  the  house, 
found  her  work  grow  wondrously  easy,  for  Tom  slaved  at  his 
lessons  in  order  to  make  sure  of  his  note  to  the  schoolmaster. 
So  there  were  very  few  days  in  the  week  in  which  Tom  and  the 
village  boys  were  not  playing  in  their  close  by  three  o'clock. 
Prisoner's  base,  rounders,  high-cock-a-lorum,  cricket,  football, 
he  was  soon  initiated  into  the  delights  of  them  all;  and  though 
most  of  the  boys  were  older  than  himself,  he  managed  to  hold 
his  own  very  well.  He  was  naturally  active  and  strong,  and 
quick  of  eye  and  hand,  and  had  the  advantage  of  light  shoes  and 
well-fitting  dress,  so  that  in  a  short  time  he  could  run  and  jump 
and  climb  with  any  of  them. 

They  generally  finished  their  regular  games  half  an  hour  or  so 
before  tea-time,  and  then  began  trials  of  skill  and  strength  in 
many  ways.  Some  of  them  would  catch  the  Shetland  pony,  who 
was  turned  out  in  the  field,  and  get  two  or  three  together  on  his 
back,  and  the  little  rogue,  enjoying  the  fun,  would  gallop  off 
for  fifty  yards,  and  then  turn  round,  or  stop  short  and  shoot  them 
onto  the  turf,  and  then  graze  quietly  on  till  he  felt  another  load; 
others  played  peg-top  or  marbles,  while  a  few  of  the  bigger  ones 
stood  up  for  a  bout  at  wrestling.     Tom  at  first  only  looked  on  at 

l54] 


^'■'t 
^^4' 


f 


/ 


-y 


i^t-m 


db 


l"«:';!ll/'^ 


'm,i 


'-  ^ 


>::.:■.■  7  ,-• 


THEY  GRAPPLED  AND  CLOSED  AND  SWAYED 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

this  pastime,  but  it  had  pecuHar  attractions  for  him,  and  he  could 
not  long  keep  out  of  it.  Elbow  and  collar  wrestling,  as  practised 
in  the  western  counties,  was,  next  to  back-swording,  the  way  to 
fame  for  the  youth  of  the  Vale;  and  all  the  boys  knew  the  rules 
of  it,  and  were  more  or  less  expert.  But  Job  Rudkin  and  Harry 
Winburn  were  the  stars,  the  former  stiff  and  sturdy,  with  legs  like 
small  towers;  the  latter  pliant  as  india-rubber,  and  quick  as 
lightning.  Day  after  day  they  stood  foot  to  foot,  and  offered  first 
one  hand  and  then  the  other,  and  grappled  and  closed  and  swayed 
and  strained,  till  a  well-aimed  crook  of  the  heel  or  thrust  of  the 
loin  took  effect,  and  a  fair  back-fall  ended  the  matter.  And  Tom 
watched  with  all  his  eyes,  and  first  challenged  one  of  the  less 
scientific,  and  threw  him;  and  so  one  by  one  wrestled  his  way 
up  to  the  leaders. 

Then,  indeed,  for  months  he  had  a  poor  time  of  it;  it  was  not 
long,  indeed,  before  he  could  manage  to  keep  his  legs  against 
Job,  for  that  hero  was  slow  of  offence,  and  gained  his  victories 
chiefiy  by  allowing  others  to  throw  themselves  against  his  im- 
movable legs  and  loins.  But  Harry  Winburn  was  undeniably 
his  master;  from  the  first  clutch  of  hands  when  they  stood  up, 
down  to  the  last  trip  which  sent  him  on  his  back  on  the  turf,  he 
felt  that  Harry  knew  more  and  could  do  more  than  he.  Luckily, 
Harry's  bright  unconsciousness,  and  Tom's  natural  good  temper, 
kept  them  from  ever  quarrelling;  and  so  Tom  worked  on  and 
on,  and  trod  more  and  more  nearly  on  Harry's  heels,  and  at 
last  mastered  all  the  dodges  and  falls  except  one.  This  one  was 
Harry's  own  particular  invention  and  pet;  he  scarcely  ever  used 
it  except  when  hard  pressed;  but  then  out  it  came,  and  as  sure 
as  it  did,  over  went  poor  Tom.  He  thought  about  that  fall  at 
his  meals,  in  his  walks,  when  he  lay  awake  in  bed,  in  his  dreams; 
but  all  to  no  purpose,  until  Harry  one  day  in  his  open  way  sug- 
gested to  him  how  he  thought  it  should  be  met,  and  in  a  week 
from  that  time  the  boys  were  equal,  save  only  the  slight  difference 
of  strength  in  Harry's  favor  which  some  extra  ten  months  of  age 

6  [57] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

gave.  Tom  had  often  afterward  reason  to  be  thankful  for  that 
early  drilling,  and,  above  all,  for  having  mastered  Harry  Win- 
burn's  fall. 

Besides  their  home  games,  on  Saturdays  the  boys  would  wan- 
der all  over  the  neighborhood;  sometimes  to  the  downs,  or  up  to 
the  camp,  where  they  cut  their  initials  out  in  the  springy  turf, 
and  watched  the  hawks  soaring,  and  the  "peert"  bird,  as  Harry 
Winburn  called  the  gray  plover,  gorgeous  in  his  wedding  feathers; 
and  so  home,  racing  down  the  Manger  w4th  many  a  roll  among 
the  thistles,  or  through  Uffington-wood  to  watch  the  fox  cubs 
playing  in  the  green  rides;  sometimes  to  Rosy  Brook,  to  cut 
long  whispering  reeds  which  grew  there,  to  make  pan-pipes  of; 
sometimes  to  Moor  Mills,  where  was  a  piece  of  old  forest  land, 
with  short  browsed  turf  and  tufted  brambly  thickets  stretching 
under  the  oaks,  among  which  rumor  declared  that  a  raven,  last 
of  his  race,  still  lingered;  or  to  the  sand-hills,  in  vain  quest  of 
rabbits;  and  bird's-nesting,  in  the  season,  anywhere  and  every- 
where. 

The  few  neighbors  of  the  squire's  own  rank  every  now  and 
then  would  shrug  their  shoulders  as  they  drove  or  rode  by  a  party 
of  boys  with  Tom  in  the  middle,  carrying  along  bulrushes  or 
whispering  reeds,  or  great  bundles  of  cowslip  and  meadow-sweet, 
or  young  starlings  or  magpies,  or  other  spoil  of  wood,  brook,  or 
meadow;  and  Lawyer  Red-tape  might  mutter  to  Squire  Straight- 
back  at  the  Board,  that  no  good  would  come  of  the  young  Browns, 
if  they  were  let  run  wild  with  all  the  dirty  village  boys,  whom  the 
best  farmer's  sons  even  would  not  play  with.  And  the  squire 
miglit  reply  with  a  shake  of  his  head,  that  his  sons  only  mixed 
with  their  equals,  and  never  went  into  the  village  without  the 
governess  or  a  footman.  But,  luckily,  Squire  Brown  was  full  as 
stiff-backed  as  his  neighbors,  and  so  went  on  his  own  way;  and 
Tom  and  his  younger  brothers,  as  they  grew  up,  went  on  playing 
with  the  village  boys,  without  the  idea  of  equality  or  inequality 
(except  in  wrestling,  running,  and  climbing)  ever  entering  their 

[58] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

heads,  as  it  doesn't  till  it's  put  there  by  Jack  Nastys  or  tine 
ladies'  maids. 

I  don't  mean  to  say  it  would  be  the  case  in  all  villages,  but 
certainly  was  so  in  this  one;  the  village  boys  were  full  as  manly 
and  honest,  and  certainly  purer,  than  those  in  a  higher  rank; 
and  Tom  got  more  harm  from  his  equals  in  his  first  fortnight  at  a 
private  school,  where  he  went  when  he  was  nine  years  old,  than 
he  had  from  his  village  friends  from  the  day  he  left  Charity's 
apron-strings. 

Great  was  the  grief  among  the  village  school-boys  when  Tom 
drove  off  with  the  squire,  one  August  morning,  to  meet  the  coach 
on  his  way  to  school.  Each  of  them  had  given  him  some  little 
present  of  the  best  that  he  had,  and  his  small  private  box  was 
full  of  peg-tops,  white  marbles  (called  "  alley-taws  "  in  the  Vale), 
screws,  birds'-eggs,  whip-cord,  jews'-harps,  and  other  miscel- 
laneous boys'  wealth.  Poor  Jacob  Doodle-calf,  in  floods  of  tears, 
had  pressed  upon  him  with  spluttering  earnestness  his  lame  pet 
hedgehog  (he  had  always  some  poor  broken-down  beast  or  bird 
by  him);  but  this  Tom  had  been  obliged  to  refuse  by  the  squire's 
order.  He  had  given  them  all  a  great  tea  under  the  big  elm  in 
their  playground,  for  which  Madam  Brown  had  supplied  the 
biggest  cake  ever  seen  in  our  village;  and  Tom  was  really  as 
sorry  to  leave  them  as  they  to  lose  him,  but  his  sorrow  was  not 
unmixed  with  the  pride  and  excitement  of  making  a  new  step  in 
life. 

And  this  feeling  carried  him  through  his  first  parting  with  his 
mother  better  than  could  have  been  expected.  Their  love  was  as 
fair  and  whole  as  human  love  can  be,  perfect  self-sacrifice  on  the 
one  side,  meeting  a  young  and  true  heart  on  the  other.  It  is  not 
within  the  scope  of  my  book,  however,  to  speak  of  family  rela- 
tions, or  I  should  have  much  to  say  on  the  subject  of  English 
mothers — ay,  and  of  English  fathers,  and  sisters,  and  brothers,  too. 

Neither  have  I  room  to  speak  of  our  private  schools:  what  I 
have  to  say  is  about  public  schools,  those  much-abused  and  much- 

[59] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

belauded  institutions  peculiar  to  England.  So  we  must  hurry 
through  Master  Tom's  year  at  a  private  school  as  fast  as  we  can. 

It  was  a  fair  average  specimen,  kept  by  a  gentleman,  with  an- 
other gentleman  as  second  master;  but  it  was  little  enough  of  the 
real  work  they  did — merely  coming  into  school  when  lessons  were 
prepared  and  all  ready  to  be  heard.  The  whole  discipline  of  the 
school  out  of  lesson  hours  was  in  the  hands  of  the  two  ushers,  one 
of  whom  was  always  with  the  boys  in  their  playground,  in  the 
school,  at  meals — in  fact,  at  all  times  and  everywhere,  till  they 
were  fairly  in  bed  at  night. 

Now  the  theory  of  private  schools  is  (or  was)  constant  super- 
vision out  of  school;  therein  differing  fundamentally  from  that 
of  public  schools. 

It  may  be  right  or  wrong;  but  if  right,  this  supervision  surely 
ought  to  be  the  especial  work  of  the  head-master,  the  responsible 
person.  The  object  of  all  schools  is  not  to  ram  Latin  and  Greek 
into  boys,  but  to  make  them  good  English  boys,  good  future  citi- 
zens; and  by  far  the  most  important  part  of  that  work  must  be 
done,  or  not  done,  out  of  school  hours.  To  leave  it,  therefore,  in 
the  hands  of  inferior  men,  is  just  giving  up  the  highest  and  hardest 
part  of  the  work  of  education.  Were  I  a  private  schoolmaster,  I 
should  say,  let  who  will  hear  the  boys  their  lessons,  but  let  me  live 
with  them  when  they  are  at  play  and  rest. 

The  two  ushers  at  Tom's  first  school  were  not  gentlemen,  and 
very  poorly  educated,  and  were  only  driving  their  poor  trade  of 
usher  to  get  such  living  as  they  could  out  of  it.  They  were  not 
bad  men,  but  had  little  heart  for  their  work,  and,  of  course,  were 
bent  on  making  it  as  easy  as  possible.  One  of  the  methods  by 
which  they  endeavored  to  accomplish  this,  was  by  encouraging 
tale-bearing,  which  had  become  a  frightfully  common  vice  in  the 
school  in  consequence,  and  had  sapped  all  the  foundations  of 
school  morality.  Another  was,  by  favoring  grossly  the  biggest 
boys,  who  alone  could  have  given  them  much  trouble;  whereby 
those  young  gentlemen  became  most  abominable  tyrants,  oppress- 

[60] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

ing  the  little  boys  in  all  the  small  mean  ways  which  prevail  in 
private  schools. 

Poor  little  Tom  was  made  dreadfully  unhappy  in  his  first  week, 
by  a  catastrophe  which  happened  to  his  first  letter  home.  With 
huge  labor  he  had,  on  the  very  evening  of  his  arrival,  managed 
to  fill  two  sides  of  a  sheet  of  letter-paper  with  assurances  of  his 
love  for  dear  mamma,  his  happiness  at  school,  and  his  resolves  to 
do  all  she  would  wish.  This  missive,  with  the  help  of  the  boy  who 
sat  at  the  desk  next  him,  also  a  new  arrival,  he  managed  to  fold 
successfully;  but  this  done,  they  were  sadly  put  to  it  for  means  of 
sealing.  Envelopes  were  then  unknown,  they  had  no  wax,  and 
dared  not  disturb  the  stillness  of  the  evening  school-room  by  get- 
ting up  and  going  to  ask  the  usher  for  some.  At  length  Tom's 
friend,  being  of  an  ingenious  turn  of  mind,  suggested  sealing  with 
ink,  and  the  letter  was  accordingly  stuck  down  with  a  blob  of  ink, 
and  duly  handed  by  Tom,  on  his  way  to  bed,  to  the  housekeeper 
to  be  posted.  It  was  not  till  four  days  afterward,  that  that  good 
dame  sent  for  him,  and  produced  the  precious  letter,  and  some 
wax,  saying,  "Oh,  Master  Brown,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  before,  but 
your  letter  isn't  sealed."  Poor  Tom  took  the  wax  in  silence  and 
sealed  his  letter,  with  a  huge  lump  rising  in  his  throat  during  the 
process,  and  then  ran  away  to  a  quiet  corner  of  the  playground 
and  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears.  The  idea  of  his  mother  waiting 
day  after  day  for  the  letter  he  had  promised  her  at  once,  and  per- 
haps thinking  him  forgetful  of  her,  when  he  had  done  all  in  his 
power  to  make  good  his  promise,  was  as  bitter  a  grief  as  any  which 
he  had  to  undergo  for  many  a  long  year.  His  wrath  then  was 
proportionately  violent  when  he  was  aware  of  two  boys,  who 
stopped  close  by  him,  and  one  of  whom,  a  fat  gaby  of  a  fellow, 
pointed  at  him  and  called  him  "Young  mammy-sick!"  Where- 
upon Tom  arose,  and  giving  vent  thus  to  his  grief  and  shame  and 
rage,  smote  his  derider  on  the  nose,  and  made  it  bleed — which 
sent  that  young  worthy  howling  to  the  usher,  who  reported  Tom 
for  violent  and  unprovoked  assault  and  battery.     Hitting  in  the 

[6i] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

face  was  a  felony  punishable  with  flogging,  other  hitting  only  a 
misdemeanor — a  distinction  not  altogether  clear  in  principle. 
Tom,  however,  escaped  the  penalty  by  pleading  primiim  tern- 
pus;  and  having  written  a  second  letter  to  his  mother,  enclosing 
some  forget-me-nots,  which  he  picked  on  their  first  half-holiday 
walk,  felt  quite  happy  again,  and  began  to  enjoy  vastly  a  good 
deal  of  his  new  life. 

These  half-holiday  walks  were  the  great  events  of  the  week. 
The  whole  fifty  boys  started  after  dinner  with  one  of  the  ushers 
for  Hazeldown,  which  was  distant  some  mile  or  so  from  the  school. 
Hazeldown  measured  some  three  miles  round,  and  in  the  neighbor- 
hood were  several  woods  full  of  all  manner  of  birds  and  butterflies. 
The  usher  walked  slowly  round  the  down  with  such  boys  as  liked 
to  accompany  him;  the  rest  scattered  in  all  directions,  being  only 
bound  to  appear  again  when  the  usher  had  completed  his  round, 
and  accompany  him  home.  They  were  forbidden,  however,  to 
go  anywhere  except  on  the  down  and  into  the  woods,  the  vil- 
lage being  especially  prohibited,  where  huge  bulls' -eyes  and 
unctuous  toffy  might  be  procured  in  exchange  for  coin  of  the 
realm. 

Various  were  the  amusements  to  which  the  boys  then  betook 
themselves.  At  the  entrance  of  the  down  there  was  a  steep  hillock, 
like  the  barrows  of  Tom's  own  downs.  This  mound  was  the 
weekly  scene  of  terrific  combats,  at  a  game  called  by  the  queer 
name  of  "mud-patties."  The  boys  who  played  divided  into  sides 
under  diff'erent  leaders,  and  one  side  occupied  the  mound.  Then, 
all  parties  having  provided  themselves  with  many  sods  of  turf, 
cut  with  their  bread-and-cheese  knives,  the  side  which  remained 
at  the  bottom  proceeded  to  assault  the  mound,  advancing  upon 
all  sides  under  cover  of  a  heavy  fire  of  turfs,  and  then  struggling 
for  victory  with  the  occupants,  which  was  theirs  as  soon  as  they 
could,  even  for  a  moment,  clear  the  summit,  when  they  in  turn 
became  the  besieged.  It  was  a  good,  rough,  dirty  game,  and  of 
great  use  in  counteracting  the  sneaking  tendencies  of  the  school. 

[62] 


M 

> 
en 

n 

> 

o 

H 


pi; 


CO 

O 
X 

o 

•-d 
O 

en 

o 

HH 

X 

CO 

o 

c! 

I— I 

r 
H 
Kj 

> 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

Then  others  of  the  boys  spread  over  the  downs,  looking  for  the 
holes  of  humble-bees  and  mice,  which  they  dug  up  without  mercy, 
often  (I  regret  to  say)  killing  and  skinning  the  unlucky  mice,  and 
(I  do  not  regret  to  say)  getting  well  stung  by  the  humble-bees. 
Others  went  after  butterflies  and  birds'-eggs  in  their  seasons;  and 
Tom  found  on  Hazeldown,  for  the  first  time,  the  beautiful  little 
blue  butterfly  with  golden  spots  on  his  wings,  which  he  had  never 
seen  on  his  own  downs,  and  dug  out  his  first  sand-martin's  nest. 
This  latter  achievement  resulted  in  a  flogging,  for  the  sand-martins 
built  in  a  high  bank  close  to  the  village,  consequently  out  of 
bounds;  but  one  of  the  bolder  spirits  of  the  school,  who  never 
could  be  happy  unless  he  was  doing  something  to  which  risk 
attached,  easily  persuaded  Tom  to  break  bounds  and  visit  the 
martin's  bank.  From  whence  it  being  only  a  step  to  the  tofFy- 
shop,  what  could  be  more  simple  than  to  go  on  there  and  fill 
their  pockets;  or  what  more  certain  than  that  on  their  return,  a 
distribution  of  treasure  having  been  made,  the  usher  should 
shortly  detect  the  forbidden  smell  of  bulls'-eyes,  and,  a  search 
ensuing,  discover  the  state  of  the  breeches-pockets  of  Tom  and 
his  ally  I 

This  ally  of  Tom's  was  indeed  a  desperate  hero  in  the  sight 
of  the  boys,  and  feared  as  one  who  dealt  in  magic,  or  something 
approaching  thereto.  Which  reputation  came  to  him  in  this 
wise.  The  boys  went  to  bed  at  eight,  and,  of  course,  consequent- 
ly lay  awake  in  the  dark  for  an  hour  or  two,  telling  ghost-stories 
by  turns.  One  night  when  it  came  to  his  turn,  and  he  had  dried 
up  their  souls  by  his  story,  he  suddenly  declared  that  he  would 
make  a  fiery  hand  appear  on  the  door;  and  to  the  astonishment 
and  terror  of  the  boys  in  his  room,  a  hand,  or  something  like  it, 
in  pale  light,  did  then  and  there  appear.  The  fame  of  this  ex- 
ploit having  spread  to  the  other  rooms,  and  being  discredited 
there,  the  young  necromancer  declared  that  the  same  wonder 
would  appear  in  all  the  rooms  in  turn,  which  it  accordingly  did; 
and  the  whole  circumstances  having  been  privately  reported  to 

[65] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

one  of  the  ushers  as  usual,  that  functionary,  after  listening  about 
at  the  doors  of  the  rooms,  by  a  sudden  descent  caught  the  per- 
former in  his  night-shirt,  with  a  box  of  phosphorus  in  his  guilty 
hand.  Lucifer  matches  and  all  the  present  facilities  for  getting 
acquainted  with  fire  were  then  unknown;  the  very  name  of  phos- 
phorus had  something  diabolic  in  it  to  the  boy-mind;  so  Tom's 
ally,  at  the  cost  of  a  sound  flogging,  earned  what  many  older 
folk  covet  much — the  very  decided  fear  of  most  of  his  com- 
panions. 

He  was  a  remarkable  boy,  and  by  no  means  a  bad  one.  Tom 
stuck  to  him  till  he  left,  and  got  into  many  scrapes  by  so  doing. 
But  he  was  the  great  opponent  of  the  tale-bearing  habits  of  the 
school,  and  the  open  enemy  of  the  ushers;  and  so  worthy  of  all 
support. 

Tom  imbibed  a  fair  amount  of  Latin  and  Greek  at  the  school, 
but  somehow  on  the  whole  it  didn't  suit  him,  or  he  it,  and  in  the 
holidays  he  was  constantly  working  the  squire  to  send  him  at 
once  to  a  public  school.  Great  was  his  joy  then,  when  in  the 
middle  of  his  third  half-year,  in  October,  183-,  a  fever  broke 
out  in  the  village,  and  the  master  having  himself  slightly  sickened 
of  it,  the  whole  of  the  boys  were  sent  off  at  a  day's  notice  to  their 
respective  homes. 

The  squire  was  not  quite  so  pleased  as  Master  Tom  to  see  that 
young  gentleman's  brown  merry  face  appear  at  home,  some  two 
months  before  the  proper  time,  for  Christmas  holidays:  and  so, 
after  putting  on  his  thinking  cap,  he  retired  to  his  study  and 
wrote  several  letters;  the  result  of  which  was  that  one  morning 
at  the  breakfast-table,  about  a  fortnight  after  Tom's  return,  he 
addressed  his  wife  with — "My  dear,  I  have  arranged  that  Tom 
shall  go  to  Rugby  at  once,  for  the  last  six  weeks  of  this  half-year, 
instead  of  wasting  them  riding  and  loitering  about  home.  It  is 
very  kind  of  the  Doctor  to  allow  it.  Will  you  see  that  his  things 
are  all  ready  by  Friday,  when  I  shall  take  him  up  to  town,  and 
send  him  down  the  next  day  by  himself." 

[66] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

Mrs.  Brown  was  prepared  for  the  announcement,  and  merely 
suggested  a  doubt  whether  Tom  were  yet  old  enough  to  travel 
by  himself.  However,  finding  both  father  and  son  against  her 
on  this  point,  she  gave  in  like  a  wise  woman,  and  proceeded  to 
prepare  Tom's  kit  for  his  launch  into  a  public  schooL 


TOM    BROWN'S 


"  Let  the   steam-ppt  hiss  till   it's   hot, 
Give  me  the  speed  of  the  Tantivy  trot." 

— Coaching  Song  by  R.  E.  E.  Warhurton,  Esq. 

''■•^OW,  sir,  time  to  get  up,  if  you  please. 
Tally-ho  coach  for  Leicester  '11  be  round  in 
half-an-hour,  and  don't  wait  for  nobodyo" 
So  spake  the  Boots  of  the  Peacock  Inn, 
Islington,  at  half-past  two  o'clock  on  the 
morning  of  a  day  in  the  early  part  of 
November,  183-,  giving  Tom  at  the  same 
time  a  shake  by  the  shoulder,  and  then  putting  down  a  candle 
and  carrying  off  his  shoes  to  clean. 

Tom  and  his  father  had  arrived  in  town  from  Berkshire  the 
day  before,  and  finding,  on  inquiry,  that  the  Birmingham  coaches 
which  ran  from  the  city  did  not  pass  through  Rugby,  but  deposited 
their  passengers  at  Dunchurch,  a  village  three  miles  distant  on 
the  main  road — where  said  passengers  had  to  wait  for  the  Oxford 
and  Leicester  coach  in  the  evening,  or  to  take  a  post-chaise — had 
resolved  that  Tom  should  travel  down  by  the  Tally-ho,  which 
diverged  from  the  main  road  and  passed  through  Rugby  itself. 

[68] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

And  as  the  Tally-ho  was  an  early  coach,  they  had  driven  out  to 
the  Peacock  to  be  on  the  road. 

Tom  had  never  been  in  London,  and  would  have  liked  to  have 
stopped  at  the  Belle  Sauvage,  where  they  had  been  put  down  by 
the  Star,  just  at  dusk,  that  he  might  have  gone  roving  about  those 
endless,  mysterious,  gas-lit  streets,  which,  with  their  glare  and 
hum  and  moving  crowds,  excited  him  so  that  he  couldn't  talk 
even.  But  as  soon  as  he  found  that  the  Peacock  arrangement 
would  get  him  to  Rugby  by  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day,  whereas 
otherwise  he  wouldn't  be  there  till  the  evening,  all  other  plans 
melted  away;  his  one  absorbing  aim  being  to  become  a  public- 
school  boy  as  fast  as  possible,  and  six  hours  sooner  or  later  seem- 
ing to  him  of  the  most  alarming  importance. 

Tom  and  his  father  had  alighted  at  the  Peacock  at  about  seven 
in  the  evening,  and  having  heard  with  unfeigned  joy  the  paternal 
order  at  the  bar,  of  steaks  and  oyster  sauce  for  supper  in  half  an 
hour,  and  seen  his  father  seated  cozily  by  the  bright  fire  in  the 
coffee-room  with  the  paper  in  his  hand — Tom  had  run  out  to  see 
about  him,  had  wondered  at  all  the  vehicles  passing  and  repassing, 
and  had  fraternized  with  the  boots  and  ostler,  from  whom  he 
ascertained  that  the  Tally-ho  was  a  tip-top  goer,  ten  miles  an  hour 
including  stoppages,  and  so  punctual  that  all  the  road  set  their 
clocks  by  her. 

Then,  being  summoned  to  supper,  he  had  regaled  himself  in 
one  of  the  bright  little  boxes  of  the  Peacock  coffee-room  on 
the  beef-steak  and  unlimited  oyster  sauce  and  brown  stout  (tasted 
then  for  the  first  time — a  day  to  be  marked  forever  by  Tom  with 
a  white  stone);  had  at  first  attended  to  the  excellent  advice  which 
his  father  was  bestowing  on  him  from  over  his  glass  of  steaming 
brandy  and  water,  and  then  begun  nodding  from  the  united  effects 
of  the  stout,  the  fire,  and  the  lecture.  Till  the  squire,  observing 
Tom's  state,  and  remembering  that  it  was  nearly  nine  o'clock, 
and  that  the  Tally-ho  left  at  three,  sent  the  little  fellow  off  to  the 
chambermaid,  with  a  shake  of  the  hand  (Tom  having  stipulated 

[69] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

in  the  morning  before  starting,  that  kissing  should  now  cease 
between  them),  and  a  few  parting  words. 

"And  now,  Tom,  my  boy,"  said  the  squire,  "remember  you 
are  going,  at  your  own  earnest  request,  to  be  chucked  into  this 
great  school,  Hke  a  young  bear  with  all  your  troubles  before  you — 
earlier  than  we  should  have  sent  you,  perhaps.  If  schools  are 
what  they  were  in  my  time,  you'll  see  a  great  many  cruel  black- 
guard things  done,  and  hear  a  deal  of  foul,  bad  talk.  But  never 
fear.  You  tell  the  truth,  keep  a  brave  and  kind  heart,  and  never 
listen  to  or  say  anything  you  wouldn't  have  your  mother  and  sister 
hear,  and  you'll  never  feel  ashamed  to  come  home,  or  we  to  see 
you." 

The  allusion  to  his  mother  made  Tom  feel  rather  choky,  and 
he  would  have  liked  to  have  hugged  his  father  well,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  recent  stipulation. 

As  it  was,  he  only  squeezed  his  father's  hand,  and  looked 
bravely  up  and  said,  "I'll  try,  father." 

"I  know  you  will,  my  boy.     Is  your  money  all  safe  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Tom,  diving  into  one  pocket  to  make  sure. 

"And  your  keys  .f"'  said  the  squire. 

"All  right,"  said  Tom,  diving  into  the  other  pocket. 

"Well,  then,  good  night.  God  bless  you!  I'll  tell  Boots  to  call 
you,  and  be  up  to  see  you  off." 

Tom  was  carried  off  by  the  chambermaid  in  a  brown  study, 
from  which  he  was  roused  in  a  clean  little  attic  by  that  buxom 
person  calling  him  a  little  darling,  and  kissing  him  as  she  left  the 
room,  which  indignity  he  was  too  much  surprised  to  resent.  And 
still  thinking  of  his  father's  last  words,  and  the  look  with  which 
they  were  spoken,  he  knelt  down  and  prayed,  that,  come  what 
might,  he  might  never  bring  shame  or  sorrow  on  the  dear  folk  at 
home. 

Indeed,  the  squire's  last  words  deserved  to  have  their  effect, 
for  they  had  been  the  result  of  much  anxious  thought.  All  the 
way  up  to  London,  he  had  pondered  what  he  should  say  to  Tom 

[70] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

by  way  of  parting  advice,  something  that  the  boy  could  keep  in 
his  head  ready  for  use.  By  way  of  assisting  meditation,  he  had 
even  gone  the  length  of  taking  out  his  flint  and  steel  and  tinder, 
and  hammering  away  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  till  he  had  manu- 
factured a  light  for  a  long  Trichinopoli  cheroot,  which  he  silently 
pufi^ed;  to  the  no  small  wonder  of  Coachee,  who  was  an  old  friend, 
and  an  institution  on  the  Bath  road;  and  who  always  expected  a 
talk  on  the  prospects  and  doings,  agricultural  and  social,  of  the 
whole  county  when  he  carried  the  squire. 

To  condense  the  squire's  meditation,  it  was  somewhat  as  fol- 
lows: "I  won't  tell  him  to  read  his  Bible  and  love  and  serve  God; 
if  he  don't  do  that  for  his  mother's  sake  and  teaching,  he  won't 
for  mine.  Shall  I  go  into  the  sort  of  temptations  he'll  meet  with  .'' 
No,  I  can't  do  that.  Never  do  for  an  old  fellow  to  go  into  such 
things  with  a  boy.  He  won't  understand  me.  Do  him  more 
harm  than  good,  ten  to  one.  Shall  I  tell  him  to  mind  his  work, 
and  say  he's  sent  to  school  to  make  himself  a  good  scholar  .?  Well, 
but  he  isn't  sent  to  school  for  that — at  any  rate,  not  for  that  mainly. 
I  don't  care  a  straw  for  Greek  particles,  or  the  digamma,  no  more 
does  his  mother.  What  is  he  sent  to  school  for  ?  Well,  partly  be- 
cause he  wanted  so  to  go.  If  he'll  only  turn  out  a  brave,  helpful, 
truth-telling  Englishman,  and  a  gentleman,  and  a  Christian,  that's 
all  I  want,"  thought  the  squire;  and  upon  this  view  of  the  case 
framed  his  last  words  of  advice  to  Tom,  which  were  well  enough 
suited  to  his  purpose. 

For  they  were  Tom's  first  thoughts  as  he  tumbled  out  of  bed 
at  the  summons  of  Boots,  and  proceeded  rapidly  to  wash  and 
dress  himself.  At  ten  minutes  to  three  he  was  down  in  the  coffee- 
room  in  his  stockings,  carrying  his  hat-box,  coat,  and  comforter 
in  his  hand;  and  there  he  found  his  father  nursing  a  bright  fire 
and  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  and  a  hard  biscuit  on  the  table. 

"Now  then,  Tom,  give  us  your  things  here,  and  drink  this; 
there's  nothing  like  starting  warm,  old  fellow." 

Tom  addressed  himself  to  the  coffee,  and  prattled  away  while 

[71] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

he  worked  himself  into  his  shoes  and  his  great-coat,  well  warmed 
through;  a  Petersham  coat  with  velvet  collar,  made  tight,  after 
the  abominable  fashion  of  those  days.  And  just  as  he  is  swallow- 
ing his  last  mouthful,  winding  his  comforter  round  his  throat,  and 
tucking  the  ends  into  the  breast  of  his  coat,  the  horn  sounds.  Boots 
looks  in  and  says,  "Tally-ho,  sir,"  and  they  hear  the  ring  and  the 
rattle  of  the  four  fast  trotters  and  the  town-made  drag,  as  it  dashes 
up  to  the  Peacock. 

"Anything  for  us.  Bob  ?"  says  the  burly  guard,  dropping  down 
from  behind,  and  slapping  himself  across  the  chest. 

"Young  genl'm'n,  Rugby;  three  parcels,  Leicester;  hamper 
o'  game,  Rugby,"  answers  Ostler. 

"Tell  young  gent  to  look  alive,"  says  guard,  opening  the  hind- 
boot  and  shooting  in  the  parcels  after  examining  them  by  the 
lamps.  "Here,  shove  the  portmanteau  up  a-top — I'll  fasten  him 
presently.     Now  then,  sir,  jump  up  behind." 

"Good-bye,  father — my  love  at  home."  A  last  shake  of  the 
hand.  Up  goes  Tom,  the  guard  catching  his  hat-box  and  hold- 
ing on  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  claps  the  horn  to 
his  mouth.  Toot,  toot,  toot!  the  ostlers  let  go  their  heads,  the 
four  bays  plunge  at  the  collar,  and  away  goes  the  Tally-ho  into 
the  darkness,  forty-five  seconds  from  the  time  they  pulled  up; 
Ostler,  Boots,  and  the  squire  stand  looking  after  them  under  the 
Peacock  lamp. 

"Sharp  work!"  says  the  squire,  and  goes  In  again  to  his  bed, 
the  coach  being  well  out  of  sight  and  hearing. 

Tom  stands  up  on  the  coach  and  looks  back  at  his  father's 
figure  as  long  as  he  can  see  it,  and  then  the  guard,  having  dis- 
posed of  his  luggage,  comes  to  an  anchor,  and  finishes  his  button- 
ings  and  other  preparations  for  facing  the  three  hours  before 
dawn;  no  joke  for  those  who  minded  cold,  on  a  fast  coach  in 
November,  in  the  reign  of  his  late  majesty. 

I  sometimes  think  that  you  boys  of  this  generation  are  a  deal 
tenderer  fellows  than  we  used  to  be.     At  any  rate,  you're  much 

[72] 


•'GOOD-BYE,  FATHER-MY  LOVE  AT  HOME" 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

more  comfortable  travellers,  tor  1  see  every  one  of  you  with  his 
rug  or  plaid,  and  other  dodges  for  preserving  the  caloric,  and 
most  of  you  going  in  those  fuzzy,  dusty,  padded  first-class  car- 
riages. It  w^as  another  affair  altogether,  a  dark  ride  on  the  top 
of  the  Tally-ho,  I  can  tell  you,  in  a  tight  Petersham  coat,  and  your 
feet  dangling  six  inches  from  the  floor.  Then  you  knew  what 
cold  was,  and  what  it  was  to  be  without  legs,  for  not  a  bit  of 
feeling  had  you  in  them  after  the  first  half-hour.  But  it  had  its 
pleasures,  the  old  dark  ride.  First  there  was  the  consciousness 
of  silent  endurance,  so  dear  to  every  Englishman — of  standing 
out  against  something,  and  not  giving  in.  Then  there  was  the 
music  of  the  rattling  harness,  and  the  ring  of  the  horses'  feet  on 
the  hard  road,  and  the  glare  of  the  two  bright  lamps  through  the 
steaming  hoar-frost,  over  the  leaders'  ears,  into  the  darkness; 
and  the  cheery  toot  of  the  guard's  horn,  to  warn  some  drowsy 
pikeman  or  the  ostler  at  the  next  change;  and  the  looking  forward 
to  daylight;  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  delight  of  returning 
sensation  in  your  toes. 

Then  the  break  of  dawn  and  the  sunrise;  where  can  they  be 
ever  seen  in  perfection  but  from  a  coach  roof  ?  You  want  motion 
and  change  and  music  to  see  them  in  their  glory;  not  the  music 
of  singing-men  and  singing-women,  but  good  silent  music,  which 
sets  itself  in  your  own  head  the  accompaniment  of  work  and 
getting  over  the  ground. 

The  Tally-ho  is  past  St.  Alban's,  and  Tom  is  enjoying  the 
ride,  though  half-frozen.  The  guard,  who  is  alone  with  him  on 
the  back  of  the  coach,  is  silent,  but  has  muflBed  Tom's  feet  up  in 
straw,  and  put  the  end  of  an  oat-sack  over  his  knees.  The  dark- 
ness has  driven  him  inward,  and  he  has  gone  over  his  little  past 
life,  and  thought  of  all  his  doings  and  promises,  and  of  his  mother 
and  sister,  and  his  father's  last  words;  and  has  made  fifty  good 
resolutions,  and  means  to  bear  himself  like  a  brave  Brown  as  he 
is,  though  a  young  one. 

Then  he  has  been   forward  into  the  mysterious  boy-future, 

l75] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

speculating  as  to  what  sort  of  a  place  Rugby  is,  and  what  they 
do  there,  and  caUing  up  all  the  stories  of  public  schools  which  he 
has  heard  from  big  boys  in  the  holidays.  He  is  chock-full  of  hope 
and  life,  notwithstanding  the  cold,  and  kicks  his  heels  against  the 
back  board,  and  would  like  to  sing,  only  he  doesn't  know  how 
his  friend  the  silent  guard  might  take  it. 

And  now  the  dawn  breaks  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  stage,  and 
the  coach  pulls  up  at  a  little  road-side  inn  with  huge  stables  be- 
hind. There  is  a  bright  fire  gleaming  through  the  red  curtains 
of  the  bar-window,  and  the  door  is  open.  The  coachman  catches 
his  whip  into  a  double  thong,  and  throws  it  to  the  ostler;  the 
steam  of  the  horses  rises  straight  up  into  the  air.  He  has  put 
them  along  over  the  last  two  miles,  and  is  two  minutes  before  his 
time;  he  rolls  down  from  the  box  and  into  the  inn.  The  guard 
rolls  off  behind.  "Now,  sir,"  says  he  to  Tom,  "you  just  jump 
down,  and  I'll  give  you  a  drop  of  something  to  keep  the  cold  out." 

Tom  finds  a  difficulty  in  jumping,  or  indeed  in  finding  the  top 
of  the  wheel  with  his  feet,  which  may  be  in  the  next  world  for  all 
he  feels;  so  the  guard  picks  him  off  the  coach-top,  and  sets  him 
on  his  legs,  and  they  stump  off  into  the  bar,  and  join  the  coach- 
man and  the  other  outside  passengers. 

Here  a  fresh-looking  barmaid  serves  them  each  with  a  glass 
of  early  purl  as  they  stand  before  the  fire,  coachman  and  guard 
exchanging  business  remarks.  The  purl  warms  the  cockles  of 
Tom's  heart,  and  makes  him  cough. 

"Rare  tackle,  that,  sir,  of  a  cold  morning,"  says  the  coach- 
man, smiling.  "Time's  up."  They  are  out  again  and  up; 
coachee  the  last,  gathering  the  reins  into  his  hands  and  talking 
to  Jem  the  ostler  about  the  mare's  shoulder,  and  then  swinging 
himself  up  onto  the  box — the  horses  dashing  off  in  a  canter  before 
he  falls  into  his  seat.  Toot-toot-tootle-too  goes  the  horn,  and 
away  they  are  again,  five-and-thirty  miles  on  their  road  (nearly 
half-way  to  Rugby,  thinks  Tom),  and  the  prospect  of  breakfast 
at  the  end  of  the  stage. 

[76) 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

And  now  they  begin  to  see,  and  the  early  life  of  tlie  country- 
side comes  out;  a  market  cart  or  two,  men  in  smock  frocks  going 
to  their  work  pipe  in  mouth,  a  whiff  of  which  is  no  bad  smell 
this  bright  morning.  The  sun  gets  up,  and  the  mist  shines  like 
silver  gauze.  They  pass  the  hounds  jogging  along  to  a  distant 
meet,  at  the  heels  of  the  huntsman's  hack,  whose  face  is  about 
the  color  of  the  tails  of  his  old  pink,  as  he  exchanges  greetings 
with  coachman  and  guard.  Now  they  pull  up  at  a  lodge,  and 
take  on  board  a  well-muffled-up  sportsman,  with  his  gun-case 
and  carpet-bag.  An  early  up-coach  meets  them,  and  the  coach- 
men gather  up  their  horses,  and  pass  one  another  with  the  accus- 
tomed lift  of  the  elbow,  each  team  doing  eleven  miles  an  hour,  with 
a  mile  to  spare  behind  if  necessary.    And  here  comes  breakfast. 

"Twenty  minutes  here,  gentlemen,"  says  the  coachman,  as  they 
pull  up  at  half-past  seven  at  the  inn  door. 

Have  we  not  endured  nobly  this  morning,  and  is  not  this  a 
worthy  reward  for  much  endurance  .?  There  is  the  low,  dark, 
wainscoted  room  hung  with  sporting  prints;  the  hat-stand  (with 
a  whip  or  two  standing  up  in  it  belonging  to  bagmen  who  are  still 
snug  in  bed)  by  the  door;  the  blazing  fire,  with  the  quaint  old 
glass  over  the  mantelpiece,  in  which  is  stuck  a  large  card  with  the 
list  of  the  meets  for  the  week  of  the  county  hounds.  The  table, 
covered  with  the  whitest  of  cloths  and  of  china,  and  bearing  a 
pigeon-pie,  ham,  round  of  cold  boiled  beef  cut  from  a  mammoth 
ox,  and  the  great  loaf  of  household  bread  on  a  wooden  trencher. 
And  here  comes  in  the  stout  head-waiter,  puffing  under  a  tray  of 
hot  viands;  kidneys  and  a  steak,  transparent  rashers  and  poached 
eggs,  buttered  toast  and  muflSns,  coffee  and  tea,  all  smoking  hot. 
The  table  can  never  hold  it  all;  the  cold  meats  are  removed  to  the 
sideboard,  they  were  only  put  on  for  show  and  to  give  us  an  appe- 
tite. And  now  fall  on,  gentlemen  all.  It  is  a  well-known  sport- 
ing-house, and  the  breakfasts  are  famous.  Two  or  three  men  in 
pink,  on  their  way  to  the  meet,  drop  in,  and  are  very  jovial  and 
sharp-set,  as  indeed  we  all  are. 

[77] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Tea  or  coffee,  sir?"  says  head-waiter,  coming  round  to  Tom. 

"Coffee,  please,"  says  Tom,  with  his  mouth  full  of  muffin  and 
kidney;   coff'ee  is  a  treat  to  him,  tea  is  not. 

Our  coachman,  I  perceive,  who  breakfasts  with  us,  is  a  cold- 
beef  man.  He  also  eschews  hot  potations,  and  addicts  himself  to 
a  tankard  of  ale,  which  is  brought  him  by  the  barmaid.  Sports- 
man looks  on  approvingly,  and  orders  a  ditto  for  himself. 

Tom  has  eaten  kidney  and  pigeon-pie,  and  imbibed  coffee,  till 
his  little  skin  is  as  tight  as  a  drum;  and  then  has  the  further 
pleasure  of  paying  head-waiter  out  of  his  own  purse,  in  a  dignified 
manner,  and  walks  out  before  the  inn  door  to  see  the  horses  put 
to.  This  is  done  leisurely  and  in  a  highly  finished  manner  by 
the  ostlers,  as  if  they  enjoyed  the  not  being  hurried.  Coachman 
comes  out  with  his  way-bill,  and  puffing  a  fat  cigar  which  the 
sportsman  has  given  him.  Guard  emerges  from  the  tap,  where 
he  prefers  breakfasting,  licking  round  a  tough-looking,  doubtful 
cheroot,  which  you  might  tie  round  your  finger,  and  three  whiffs 
of  which  would  knock  any  one  else  out  of  time. 

The  pinks  stand  about  the  inn  door  lighting  cigars  and  waiting 
to  see  us  start,  while  their  hacks  are  led  up  and  down  the  market- 
place on  which  the  inn  looks.  They  all  know  our  sportsman,  and 
we  feel  a  reflected  credit  when  we  see  him  chatting  and  laughing 
with  them. 

"Now,  sir,  please,"  says  the  coachman;  all.  the  rest  of  the  pas- 
sengers are  up;   the  guard  is  locking  the  hind  boot. 

"A  good  run  to  you!"  says  the  sportsman  to  the  pinks,  and  is 
by  the  coachman's  side  in  no  time. 

"Let  'em  go,  Dick!"  The  ostlers  fly  back,  drawing  off  the 
cloths  from  their  glossy  loins,  and  away  we  go  through  the  market- 
place and  down  the  High  Street,  looking  in  at  the  first-floor  win- 
dows, and  seeing  several  worthy  burgesses  shaving  thereat;  while 
all  the  shop-boys  who  are  cleaning  the  windows,  and  housemaids 
who  are  doing  the  steps,  stop  and  look  pleased  as  we  rattle  past, 
as  if  we  were  a  part  of  their  legitimate  morning's  amusement.     We 

[78] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

clear  the  town,  and  are  well  out  between  the  hedgerows  again  as 
the  town  clock  strikes  eight. 

The  sun  shines  almost  warmly,  and  breakfast  has  oiled  all 
springs  and  loosened  all  tongues.  Tom  is  encouraged  by  a 
remark  or  two  of  the  guard's  between  the  puffs  of  his  oily  cheroot, 
and  besides  is  getting  tired  of  not  talking;  he  is  too  full  of  his 
destination  to  talk  about  anything  else;  and  so  asks  the  guard  if 
he  knows  Rugby. 

"Goes  through  it  every  day  of  my  life.  Twenty  minutes  atore 
twelve  down — ten  o'clock  up." 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  it,  please  .f"'  says  Tom. 

Guard  looks  at  him  with  a  comical  expression.  "Werry  out- 
o'-the-way  place,  sir;  no  paving  to  the  streets  nor  no  lighting. 
'Mazin'  big  horse  and  cattle  fair  in  autumn — lasts  a  week — just 
over  now.  Takes  town  a  week  to  get  clean  after  it.  Fairish 
hunting  country.  But  slow  place,  sir,  slow  place:  off  the  main 
road,  you  see — only  three  coaches  a  day,  and  one  on  'em  a  two-oss 
wan,  more  like  a  hearse  nor  a  coach — Regulator — comes  from 
Oxford.  Young  genl'm'n  at  school  calls  her  Pig  and  Whistle, 
and  goes  up  to  college  by  her  (six  miles  an  hour)  when  they  goes 
to  enter.     Belong  to  school,  sir  r' 

"Yes,"  says  Tom,  not  unwilling  for  a  moment  that  the  guard 
should  think  him  an  old  boy.  But  then  having  some  qualms  as 
to  the  truth  of  the  assertion,  and  seeing  that  if  he  were  to  assume 
the  character  of  an  old  boy  he  couldn't  go  on  asking  the  questions 
he  wanted,  added — "that  is  to  say,  I'm  on  my  way  there.  I'm  a 
new  boy." 

The  guard  looked  as  if  he  knew  this  quite  as  well  as  Tom. 

"You're  werry  late,  sir,"  says  the  guard;  "only  six  weeks  to-day 
to  the  end  of  the  half."  Tom  assented.  "We  takes  up  fine  loads 
this  day  six  weeks,  and  Monday  and  Tuesday  arter.  Hopes  we 
shall  have  the  pleasure  of  carrying  you  back." 

Tom  said  he  hoped  they  would;  but  he  thought  within  himself 
that  his  fate  would  probably  be  the  Pig  and  Whistle. 

[79] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"It  pays  uncommon,  cert'nly,"  continues  the  guard.  "Werry 
free  with  their  cash  is  the  young  genl'm'n.  But,  Lor'  bless  you, 
we  gets  into  such  rows  all  'long  the  road,  what  wi'  their  pea- 
shooters, and  long  whips,  and  hollering,  and  upsetting  every  one 
as  comes  by;  I'd  a  sight  sooner  carry  one  or  two  on  'em,  sir,  as  I 
may  be  a  carryin'  of  you  now,  than  a  coach-load." 

"What  do  they  do  with  the  pea-shooters  ?"  inquires  Tom. 

"Do  wi'  'em!  Why,  peppers  every  one's  faces  as  we  comes 
near,  'cept  the  young  gals,  and  breaks  windows  wi'  them,  too, 
some  on  'em  shoots  so  hard.  Now  'twas  just  here  last  June,  as 
we  was  a-driving  up  the  first-day  boys,  they  was  mendin'  a  quarter- 
mile  of  road,  and  there  was  a  lot  of  Irish  chaps,  reg'lar  roughs, 
a-breaking  stones.  As  w^e  comes  up,  'Now,  boys,'  says  young 
gent  on  the  box  (smart  young  fellow  and  desper't  reckless),  'here's 
fun!  Let  the  Pats  have  it  about  the  ears.'  'God's  sake,  sir!' 
says  Bob  (that's  my  mate  the  coachman),  'don't  go  for  to  shoot 
at  'em,  they'll  knock  us  off  the  coach.'  'Damme,  coachee,'  says 
young  my  lord,  'you  ain't  afraid;  hoora,  boys!  let  'em  have  it.' 
'Hoora!'  sings  out  the  others,  and  fill  their  mouths  chock-full  of 
peas  to  last  the  whole  line.  Bob  seeing  as  'twas  to  come,  knocks 
his  hat  over  his  eyes,  hollers  to  his  'osses,  and  shakes  'em  up, 
and  away  we  goes  up  to  the  line  on  'em,  twenty  miles  an  hour. 
The  Pats  begin  to  hoora,  too,  thinking  it  was  a  runaway,  and 
first  lot  on  'em  stands  grinnin'  and  wavin'  their  old  hats  as  we 
comes  abreast  on  'em;  and  then  you'd  ha'  laughed  to  see  how 
took  aback  and  choking  savage  they  looked  when  they  gets  the 
peas  a-stinging  all  over  'em.  But  bless  you,  the  laugh  weren't  all 
of  our  side,  sir,  by  a  long  way.  We  was  going  so  fast,  and  they 
was  so  took  aback,  that  they  didn't  take  what  was  up  till  we  was 
half-way  up  the  line.  Then  'twas  'look  out  all,'  surely.  They 
howls  all  down  the  line  fit  to  frighten  you,  some  on  'em  runs 
arter  us  and  tries  to  clamber  up  behind,  only  we  hits  'em  over  the 
fingers  and  pulls  their  hands  oflT;  one  as  had  had  it  very  sharp 
act'ly  runs  right  at  the  leaders,  as  though  he'd  ketch  'em  by  the 

[80] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

heads,  only  luck'ly  for  him  he  misses  his  tip,  and  comes  over  a 
heap  of  stones,  first.  The  rest  picks  up  stones,  and  gives  it  us 
right  away  till  we  gets  out  o'  shot,  the  young  gents  holding  out 
werry  manful  with  the  pea-shooters  and  such  stones  as  lodged 
on  us,  and  a  pretty  many  there  was  too.  Then  Bob  picks  hisself 
up  again,  and  looks  at  young  gent  on  box  werry  solemn.  Bob'd 
had  a  rum  un  in  the  ribs,  which'd  like  to  ha'  knocked  him  off  the 
box,  or  made  him  drop  the  reins.  Young  gent  on  box  picks  his- 
self up,  and  so  does  we  all,  and  looks  round  to  count  damage. 
Box's  head  cut  open  and  his  hat  gone;  'nother  young  gent's  hat 
gone;  mine  knocked  in  at  the  side,  and  not  one  on  us  as  wasn't 
black  and  blue  somewheres  or  another;  most  on  'em  all  over. 
Two-pound-ten  to  pay  for  damage  to  paint,  which  they  subscribed 
for  there  and  then,  and  give  Bob  and  me  a  extra  half-sovereign 
each;  but  I  wouldn't  go  down  that  line  again  not  for  twenty 
half-sovereigns."  And  the  guard  shook  his  head  slowly,  and  got 
up  and  blew  a  clear  brisk  toot-toot. 

"What  fun!"  said  Tom,  who  could  scarcely  contain  his  pride 
at  this  exploit  of  his  future  school-fellows.  He  longed  already  for 
the  end  of  the  half,  that  he  might  join  them. 

"'Taint  such  good  fun  though,  sir,  for  the  folk  as  meets  the 
coach,  nor  for  we  who  has  to  go  back  with  it  next  day.  Them 
Irishers  last  summer  had  all  got  stones  ready  for  us,  and  was  all 
but  letting  drive,  and  we'd  got  two  reverend  gents  aboard,  too. 
We  pulled  up  at  the  beginning  of  the  line,  and  pacified  them,  and 
were  never  going  to  carry  no  more  pea-shooters,  unless  they 
promises  not  to  fire  where  there's  a  line  of  Irish  chaps  a-stone- 
breaking."  The  guard  stopped  and  pulled  away  at  his  cheroot, 
regarding  Tom  benignantly  the  while. 

"Oh,  don't  stop!  Tell  us  something  more  about  the  pea- 
shooting." 

"Well,  there'd  like  to  have  been  a  pretty  piece  of  work  over 
it  at  Bicester,  awhile  back.  We  was  six  mile  from  the  town, 
when  we  meets  an  old  square-headed  gray-haired  yeoman  chap, 

[8.] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

a-jogging  along  quite  quiet.  He  looks  up  at  the  coach,  and  just 
then  a  pea  hits  him  on  the  nose,  and  some  ketches  his  cob  behind 
and  makes  him  dance  up  on  his  hind  legs.  I  see'd  the  old  boy's 
face  flush  and  look  plaguy  awkward,  and  I  thought  we  was  in 
for  somethin'  nasty. 

"He  turns  his  cob's  head  and  rides  quietly  after  us  just  out 
of  shot.  How  that  ere  cob  did  step!  We  never  shook  him  off 
not  a  dozen  yards  in  the  six  mile.  At  first  the  young  gents  was 
werry  lively  on  him;  but  afore  we  got  in,  seeing  how  steady  the 
old  chap  come  on,  they  was  quite  quiet,  and  laid  their  heads  to- 
gether what  they  should  do.  Some  was  for  fighting,  some  for 
axing  his  pardon.  He  rides  into  the  town  close  after  us,  comes 
up  when  we  stops,  and  says  the  two  as  shot  at  him  must  come 
before  a  magistrate;  and  a  great  crowd  comes  round,  and  we 
couldn't  get  the  'osses  to.  But  the  young  uns,  they  all  stand  by 
one  another,  and  says  all  or  none  must  go,  and  as  how  they'd 
fight  it  out  and  have  to  be  carried.  Just  as  'twas  gettin'  serious, 
and  the  old  boy  and  the  mob  was  goin'  to  pull  'em  off  the  coach, 
one  little  fellow  jumps  up  and  says:  'Here — I'll  stay — I'm  only 
going  three  miles  further.  My  father's  name's  Davis;  he's 
known  about  here,  and  I'll  go  before  the  magistrate  with  this 
gentleman.'  *What,  be  thee  Parson  Davis's  son?'  says  the  old 
boy.  *Yes,'  says  the  young  un.  'Well,  I  be  mortal  sorry  to 
meet  thee  in  such  company,  but  for  thy  father's  sake  and  thine 
(for  thee  bi'st  a  brave  young  chap)  I'll  say  no  more  about 
it.'  Didn't  the  bovs  cheer  him !  and  the  mob  cheered  the 
young  chap;  and  then  one  of  the  biggest  gets  down  and  begs  his 
pardon  werry  gentlemanly  for  all  the  rest,  saying  as  they  all  had 
been  plaguy  vexed  from  the  first,  but  didn't  like  to  ax  his  pardon 
till  then,  'cause  they  felt  they  hadn't  ought  to  shirk  the  conse- 
quences of  their  joke.  And  then  they  all  got  down  and  shook 
hands  with  the  old  boy,  and  asked  him  to  all  parts  of  the  country, 
to  their  homes;  and  we  drives  off*  twenty  minutes  behind  time, 
with  cheering  and  hollering  as  if  we  was  county  members.     But, 

[8z] 


,-»> '    mm  ^it' 


AWAY  WENT  TWO   BOYS  ALONG  THE  FOOT-PATH 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

Lor'  bless  you,  sir,"  says  the  guard,  smacking  his  hand  down  on 
his  knee  and  looking  full  into  Tom's  face,  "ten  minutes  arter 
they  was  all  as  bad  as  ever." 

Tom  showed  such  undisguised  and  open-mouthed  interest  in 
his  narrations  that  the  old  guard  rubbed  up  his  memory  and 
launched  out  into  a  graphic  history  of  all  the  performances  of 
the  boys  on  the  road  for  the  last  twenty  years.  Off  the  road  he 
couldn't  go;  the  exploit  must  have  been  connected  with  horses 
or  vehicles  to  hang  in  the  old  fellow's  head.  Tom  tried  him  off 
his  own  ground  once  or  twice,  but  found  he  knew  nothing  beyond, 
and  so  let  him  have  his  head,  and  the  rest  of  the  road  bowled  easily 
away;  for  old  Blowhard  (as  the  boys  called  him)  was  a  dry  old 
file,  with  much  kindness  and  humor,  and  a  capital  spinner  of  a 
yarn  when  he  had  broken  the  neck  of  his  day's  work  and  got 
plenty  of  ale  under  his  belt. 

What  struck  Tom's  youthful  imagination  most  was  the  des- 
perate and  lawless  character  of  most  of  the  stories.  Was  die 
guard  hoaxing  him  ?  He  couldn't  help  hoping  that  they  were  true. 
It's  very  odd  how  almost  all  English  boys  love  danger;  you  can  get 
ten  to  join  a  game,  or  climb  a  tree,  or  swim  a  stream,  when  there's 
a  chance  of  breaking  their  limbs  or  getting  drowned,  for  one  who'll 
stay  on  level  ground,  or  in  his  depth,  or  play  quoits  or  bowls. 

The  guard  had  just  finished  an  account  of  a  desperate  fight 
which  had  happened  at  one  of  the  fairs  between  the  drovers  and 
the  farmers  with  their  whips  and  the  boys  with  cricket-bats  and 
wickets,  which  arose  out  of  a  playful  but  objectionable  practice 
of  the  boys  going  round  to  the  public-houses  and  taking  the  linch- 
pins out  of  the  wheels  of  the  gigs,  and  was  moralizing  upon  the 
way  in  which  the  Doctor,  "a  terrible  stern  man  he'd  heard  tell," 
had  come  down  upon  several  of  the  performers,  "sending  three 
on  'em  off  next  morning,  each  in  a  po-chay  with  a  parish  con- 
stable," when  they  turned  a  corner  and  neared  the  mile-stone,  the 
third  from  Rugby.  By  the  stone  two  boys  stood,  their  jackets 
buttoned  tight,  waiting  for  the  coach. 

[85] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Look  here,  sir,"  says  the  guard,  after  giving  a  sharp  toot-toot, 
"there's  two  on  'em;  out-and-out  runners  they  be.  They  come 
out  about  twice  or  three  times  a  week,  and  spirts  a  mile  alongside 

us. 

And  as  they  came  up,  sure  enough,  away  went  two  boys  along 
the  foot-path,  keeping  up  with  the  horses;  the  first  a  light,  clean- 
made  fellow  going  on  springs,  the  other  stout  and  round- 
shouldered,  laboring  in  his  pace,  but  going  as  dogged  as  a  bull- 
terrier. 

Old  Blowhard  looked  on  admiringly.  "  See  how  beautiful 
that  there  un  holds  hisself  together  and  goes  from  his  hips,  sir," 
said  he;  "he's  a  'mazin'  fine  runner.  Now,  many  coachmen  as 
drives  a  first-rate  team  'd  put  it  on  and  try  and  pass  'em.  But 
Bob,  sir,  bless  you,  he's  tender-hearted;  he'd  sooner  pull  in  a  bit 
if  he  see'd  'em  a  gettin'  beat.  I  do  b'lieve,  too,  as  that  there  un  'd 
sooner  break  his  heart  than  let  us  go  by  him  afore  next  mile- 


stone." 


At  the  second  mile-stone  the  boys  pulled  up  short  and  waved 
their  hats  to  the  guard,  who  had  his  watch  out  and  shouted  "4.56," 
thereby  indicating  that  the  mile  had  been  done  in  four  seconds 
under  the  five  minutes.  They  passed  several  more  parties  of 
boys,  all  of  them  objects  of  the  deepest  interest  to  Tom,  and  came 
in  sight  of  the  town  at  ten  minutes  before  twelve.  Tom  fetched  a 
long  breath,  and  thought  he  had  never  spent  a  pleasanter  day. 
Before  he  went  to  bed  he  had  quite  settled  that  it  must  be  the 
greatest  day  he  should  ever  spend,  and  didn't  alter  his  opinion  for 
many  a  long  year — if  he  has  yet. 


SCHOOL    DAYS 


if 

3 

I'-i 

f 

, 

'^ 

V 

/ 

CHAPTER   V 


RUGBY   AND    FOOTBALL 

.  .  .  Foot  and  eye  opposed 
In  dubious  strife." 

— Scott. 


ND  so  here's  Rugby,  sir,  at  last,  and  you'll 
be  in  plenty  of  time  for  dinner  at  the  School- 
house,  as  I  tell'd  you,"  said  the  old  guard, 
pulling  his  horn  out  of  its  case  and  tootle- 
tooing  away;  while  the  coachman  shook  up 
his  horses  and  carried  them  along  the  side  of 
the  school  close,  round  Dead-man's  Corner, 
past  the  school-gates,  and  down  the  High  Street  to  the  Spread 
Eagle;  the  wheelers  in  a  spanking  trot,  and  leaders  cantering,  in 
a  style  which  would  not  have  disgraced  "Cherry  Bob,"  "ramping, 
stamping,  tearing,  swearing  Billy  Harwood,"  or  any  other  of  the 
old  coaching  heroes. 

Tom's  heart  beat  quick  as  he  passed  the  great  school  field  or 
close,  with  its  noble  elms,  in  which  several  games  at  football  were 

[87] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

going  on,  and  tried  to  take  in  at  once  the  long  line  of  gray  build- 
ings, beginning  with  the  chapel  and  ending  with  the  School- 
house,  the  residence  of  the  head-master,  where  the  great  flag  was 
lazily  waving  from  the  highest  round  tower.  And  he  began 
already  to  be  proud  of  being  a  Rugby  boy,  as  he  passed  the  school 
gates,  with  the  oriel  window  above,  and  saw  the  boys  standing 
there,  looking  as  if  the  town  belonged  to  them,  and  nodding  in  a 
familiar  manner  to  the  coachman,  as  if  any  one  of  them  would  be 
quite  equal  to  getting  on  the  box  and  working  the  team  down 
street  as  well  as  he. 

One  of  the  young  heroes,  however,  ran  out  from  the  rest  and 
scrambled  up  behind;  where,  having  righted  himself  and  nodded 
to  the  guard  with  "How  do,  Jem  ?"  he  turned  short  round  to  Tom 
and,  after  looking  him  over  for  a  minute,  began: 

"I  say,  you  fellow,  is  your  name  Brown  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Tom,  in  considerable  astonishment  —  glad,  how- 
ever, to  have  lighted  on  some  one  already  who  seemed  to  know 
him. 

"Ah,  I  thought  so;  you  know  my  old  aunt,  Miss  East;  she 
lives  somewhere  down  your  way  in  Berkshire.  She  wrote  to  me 
that  you  were  coming  to-day,  and  asked  me  to  give  you  a  lift." 

Tom  was  somewhat  inclined  to  resent  the  patronizing  air  of  his 
new  friend — a  boy  of  just  about  his  own  height  and  age,  but  gifted 
with  the  most  transcendent  coolness  and  assurance,  which  Tom 
felt  to  be  aggravating  and  hard  to  bear,  but  couldn't  for  the  life 
of  him  help  admiring  and  envying — especially  when  my  young 
lord  begins  hectoring  two  or  three  long,  loafing  fellows,  half-porter, 
half-stableman,  with  a  strong  touch  of  the  blackguard,  and  in  the 
end  arranges  with  one  of  them,  nicknamed  Cooey,  to  carry  Tom's 
luggage  up  to  the  School-house  for  sixpence. 

"And  heark  'ee,  Cooey,  it  must  be  up  in  ten  minutes,  or  no 
more  jobs  from  me.  Come  along.  Brown."  And  away  swaggers 
the  young  potentate,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  Tom  at 
his  side. 

[88] 


"AND    HEARK    'EE,  COOEY,  IT    MUST    BE    UP    IN    TEN 
MINUTES,  OR  NO  MORE  JOBS  FROM  ME" 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"All  right,  sir,"  says  Cooey,  touching  his  hat,  with  a  leer  and 
a  wink  at  liis  companions. 

"Hullo,  though,"  says  East,  pulling  up  and  taking  another  look 
at  Tom,  "this  '11  never  do — haven't  you  got  a  hat? — we  never 
wear  caps  here.  Only  the  louts  wear  caps.  Bless  you,  if  you 
were  to  go  into  the  quadrangle  with  that  thing  on,  I — don't  know 
what'd  happen."  The  very  idea  was  quite  beyond  young  Mas- 
ter East,  and  he  looked  unutterable  things. 

Tom  thought  his  cap  a  very  knowing  affair,  but  confessed  that 
he  had  a  hat  in  his  hat-box;  which  was  accordingly  at  once  ex- 
tracted from  the  hind  boot  and  Tom  equipped  in  his  go-to-meet- 
ing roof,  as  his  new  friend  called  it.  But  this  didn't  quite  suit  his 
fastidious  taste  in  another  minute,  being  too  shiny;  so,  as  they 
walk  up  the  town,  they  dive  Into  Nixon's  the  hatter's,  and  Tom 
is  arrayed,  to  his  utter  astonishment,  and  without  paying  for  it, 
in  a  regulation  cat-skin  at  seven -and -sixpence,  Nixon  under- 
taking to  send  the  best  hat  up  to  the  matron's  room,  School-house, 
in  half  an  hour. 

"You  can  send  in  a  note  for  a  tile  on  Monday,  and  make  it  all 
right,  you  know,"  said  Mentor;  "we're  allowed  two  seven-and- 
sixers  a  half,  besides  what  we  bring  from  home." 

Tom  by  this  time  began  to  be  conscious  of  his  new  social  posi- 
tion and  dignities,  and  to  luxuriate  in  the  realized  ambition  of 
being  a  public-school  boy  at  last,  with  a  vested  right  of  spoiling 
two  seven-and-sixers  in  half  a  year. 

"You  see,"  said  his  friend,  as  they  strolled  up  toward  the 
school-gates,  in  explanation  of  his  conduct,  "a  great  deal  depends 
on  how  a  fellow  cuts  up  at  first.  If  he's  got  nothing  odd  about 
him,  and  answers  straightforward  and  holds  his  head  up,  he  gets 
on.  Now  you'll  do  very  well  as  to  rig,  all  but  that  cap.  You  see, 
I'm  doing  the  handsome  thing  by  you,  because  my  father  knows 
yours;  besides,  I  want  to  please  the  old  lady.  She  gave  me  a 
half-a-sov.  this  half,  and  perhaps  '11  double  It  next.  If  I  keep  In 
her  good  books." 

[91] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

There's  nothing  for  candor  like  a  lower-school  boy;  and  East 
was  a  genuine  specimen — frank,  hearty,  and  good-natured,  well 
satisfied  with  himself  and  his  position,  and  chock-full  of  life  and 
spirits,  and  all  the  Rugby  prejudices  and  traditions  which  he  had 
been  able  to  get  together  in  the  long  course  of  one -half  year 
during  which  he  had  been  at  the  School-house. 

And  Tom,  notwithstanding  his  bumptiousness,  felt  friends  with 
him  at  once,  and  began  sucking  in  all  his  ways  and  prejudices  as 
fast  as  he  could  understand  them. 

East  was  great  in  the  character  of  cicerone;  he  carried  Tom 
through  the  great  gates,  where  were  only  two  or  three  boys. 
These  satisfied  themselves  with  the  stock  questions — "You  fellow, 
what's  your  name  ?  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  How  old  are 
you  f  Where  do  you  board  .?  and.  What  form  are  you  In  .?"  And 
so  they  passed  on  through  the  quadrangle  and  a  small  court-yard, 
upon  which  looked  down  a  lot  of  little  windows  (belonging,  as  his 
guide  Informed  him,  to  some  of  the  School-house  studies),  into 
the  matron's  room,  where  East  Introduced  Tom  to  that  dignitary; 
made  him  give  up  the  key  of  his  trunk  that  the  matron  might  un- 
pack his  linen,  and  told  the  story  of  the  hat  and  of  his  own  pres- 
ence of  mind,  upon  the  relation  whereof  the  matron  laughingly 
scolded  him  for  the  coolest  new  boy  In  the  house;  and  East,  In- 
dignant at  the  accusation  of  newness,  marched  Tom  off  Into  the 
quadrangle  and  began  showing  him  the  schools  and  examining 
him  as  to  his  literary  attainments;  the  result  of  which  was  a 
prophecy  that  they  would  be  In  the  same  form  and  could  do  their 
lessons  together. 

"And  now  come  In  and  see  my  study;  we  shall  have  just  time 
before  dinner;  and  afterward,  before  calling  over,  we'll  do  the 
close." 

Tom  followed  his  guide  through  the  School-house  hall,  which 
opens  Into  the  quadrangle.  It  Is  a  great  room,  thirty  feet  long  and 
eighteen  high,  or  thereabouts,  with  two  great  tables  running  the 
whole  length,  and  two  large  fireplaces  at  the  side,  with  blazing 

[92] 


SCHOOL  DAYS 

fires  in  them,  at  one  of  which  some  dozen  boys  were  standing  and 
lounging,  some  of  whom  shouted  to  East  to  stop;  hut  he  shot 
through  with  his  convoy  and  landed  him  in  the  long,  dark  pas- 
sages, with  a  large  fire  at  the  end  of  each,  upon  which  the 
studies  opened.  Into  one  of  these,  in  the  bottom  passage,  East 
bolted  with  our  hero,  slamming  and  bolting  the  door  behind  them, 
in  case  of  pursuit  from  the  hall,  and  Tom  was  for  the  first  time 
in  a  Rugby  boy's  citadel. 

He  hadn't  been  prepared  for  separate  studies,  and  was  not  a 
little  astonished  and  delighted  with  the  palace  in  question. 

It  wasn't  very  large,  certainly,  being  about  six  feet  long  by 
four  broad.  It  couldn't  be  called  light,  as  there  were  bars  and 
a  grating  to  the  window;  which  little  precautions  were  neces- 
sary in  the  studies  on  the  ground-floor  looking  out  into  the  close, 
to  prevent  the  exit  of  small  boys  after  locking  -  up  and  the  en- 
trance of  contraband  articles.  But  it  was  uncommonly  comfort- 
able to  look  at,  Tom  thought.  The  space  under  the  window  at 
the  farther  end  was  occupied  by  a  square  table  covered  with  a 
reasonably  clean  and  whole  red -and -blue -check  tablecloth;  a 
hard-seated  sofa  covered  with  red  stuff  occupied  one  side,  run- 
ning up  to  the  end,  and  making  a  seat  for  one,  or,  by  sitting  close, 
for  two  at  the  table;  and  a  good,  stout  wooden  chair  afforded  a 
seat  to  another  boy,  so  that  three  could  sit  and  work  together. 
The  walls  were  wainscoted  half-way  up,  the  wainscot  being 
covered  with  green  baize,  the  remainder  with  a  bright-patterned 
paper,  on  which  hung  three  or  four  prints,  of  dogs'  heads,  Grimaldi 
winning  the  Aylesbury  steeplechase.  Amy  Robsart  (the  reigning 
Waverley  beauty  of  the  day),  and  Tom  Crib  in  a  posture  of  de- 
fence, which  did  no  credit  to  the  science  of  that  hero,  if  truly 
represented.  Over  the  door  were  a  row  of  hat-pegs,  and  on 
each  side  bookcases  with  cupboards  at  the  bottom;  shelves  and 
cupboards  being  filled  indiscriminately  with  school-books,  a  cup 
or  two,  a  mouse-trap,  and  brass  candlesticks,  leather  straps,  a 
fustian  bag,  and  some  curious -looking  articles  which  puzzled 

[93] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

Tom  not  a  little  until  his  friend  explained  that  they  were  climb- 
ing irons  and  showed  their  use.  A  cricket-bat  and  small  fishing- 
rod  stood  up  in  one  corner. 

This  was  the  residence  of  East  and  another  boy  in  the  same 
form,  and  had  more  interest  for  Tom  than  Windsor  Castle  or  any 
other  residence  in  the  British  Isles.  For  was  he  not  about  to 
become  the  joint  owner  of  a  similar  home,  the  first  place  which 
he  could  call  his  own  .^^  One's  own!  What  a  charm  there  is  in 
the  words!  How  long  it  takes  boy  and  man  to  find  out  their 
worth !  How  fast  most  of  us  hold  on  to  them ! — faster  and  more 
jealously  the  nearer  we  are  to  that  general  home  into  which  we 
can  take  nothing,  but  must  go  naked  as  we  came  into  the  world. 
When  shall  we  learn  that  he  who  multiplieth  possessions  multi- 
plieth  troubles,  and  that  the  one  single  use  of  things  which  we  call 
our  own  is  that  they  may  be  his  who  hath  need  of  them  ? 

"And  shall  I  have  a  study  like  this,  too  ?"  said  Tom. 

**Yes,  of  course,  you'll  be  chummed  with  some  fellow  on  Mon- 
day, and  you  can  sit  here  till  then." 

"What  nice  places!" 

"They're  well  enough,"  answered  East,  patronizingly,  "only 
uncommon  cold  at  nights,  sometimes.  Gower — that's  my  chum 
— and  I  make  a  fire  with  paper  on  the  floor  after  supper  generally, 
only  that  makes  it  so  smoky." 

"But  there's  a  big  fire  out  in  the  passage,"  said  Tom. 

"Precious  little  good  we  get  out  of  that,  though,"  said  East; 
"Jones,  the  praepostor,  has  the  study  at  the  fire  end,  and  he  has 
rigged  up  an  iron  rod  and  green  baize  curtain  across  the  passage, 
which  he  draws  at  night  and  sits  there  with  his  door  open,  so  he 
gets  all  the  fire  and  hears  if  we  come  out  of  our  studies  after  eight 
or  make  a  noise.  However,  he's  taken  to  sitting  in  the  fifth-form 
room  lately,  so  we  do  get  a  bit  of  fire  now  sometimes;  only  keep 
a  sharp  lookout  that  he  don't  catch  you  behind  his  curtain  when 
he  comes  down — that's  all." 

A  quarter-past  one  now  struck,  and  the  bell  began  tolling  for 

[9+] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

dinner,  so  they  went  into  the  hall  and  took  their  places,  Tom  at 
the  very  bottom  of  the  second  table,  next  to  the  pnepostor  (who 
sat  at  the  end  to  keep  order  there),  and  East  a  few  paces  higher. 
And  now  Tom  for  the  first  time  saw  his  future  school-fellows  in  a 
body.  In  they  came,  some  hot  and  ruddy  from  football  or  long 
walks,  some  pale  and  chilly  from  hard  reading  in  their  studies, 
some  from  loitering  over  the  fire  at  the  pastry-cook's,  dainty  mor- 
tals, bringing  with  them  pickles  and  sauce-bottles  to  help  them 
with  their  dinners.  And  a  great,  big-bearded  man,  whom  Tom 
took  for  a  master,  began  calling  over  the  names,  while  the  great 
joints  were  being  rapidly  carved  on  a  third  table  in  the  corner  by 
the  old  verger  and  the  housekeeper.  Tom's  turn  came  last,  and 
meanwhile  he  was  all  eyes,  looking  first  with  awe  at  the  great  man 
who  sat  close  to  him,  and  was  helped  first,  and  who  read  a  hard- 
looking  book  all  the  time  he  was  eating,  and,  when  he  got  up  and 
walked  off  to  the  fire,  at  the  small  boys  round  him,  some  of  whom 
were  reading,  and  the  rest  talking  in  whispers  to  one  another,  or 
stealing  one  another's  bread,  or  shooting  pellets,  or  digging  their 
forks  through  the  tablecloth.  However,  notwithstanding  his  curi- 
osity, he  managed  to  make  a  capital  dinner  by  the  time  the  big 
man  called  "Stand  up!"  and  said  grace. 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  over  and  Tom  had  been  questioned  by 
such  of  his  neighbors  as  were  curious  as  to  his  birth,  parentage, 
education,  and  other  like  matters,  East,  who  evidently  enjoyed 
his  new  dignity  of  patron  and  mentor,  proposed  having  a  look  at 
the  close,  which  Tom,  athirst  for  knowledge,  gladly  assented  to, 
and  they  went  out  through  the  quadrangle  and  past  the  big  fives'- 
court  into  the  great  playground. 

"That's  the  chapel,  you  see,"  said  East,  "and  there  just  behind 
it  is  the  place  for  fights;  you  see,  it's  most  out  of  the  way  of  the 
masters,  who  all  live  on  the  other  side  and  don't  come  by  here 
after  first  lesson  or  callings-over.  That's  when  the  fights  come 
off.  And  all  this  part  where  we  are  is  the  little  side-ground,  right 
up  to  the  trees,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  trees  is  the  big  side- 

[95] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

ground,  where  the  great  matches  are  played.  And  there's  the 
island  in  the  farthest  corner;  you'll  know  that  well  enough  next 
half,  when  there's  island  fagging.  I  say,  it's  horrid  cold;  let's 
have  a  run  across,"  and  away  went  East,  Tom  close  behind  him. 
East  was  evidently  putting  his  best  foot  foremost,  and  Tom,  who 
was  mighty  proud  of  his  running,  and  not  a  little  anxious  to  show 
his  friend  that  although  a  new  boy  he  was  no  milksop,  laid  himself 
down  to  the  work  in  his  very  best  style.  Right  across  the  close 
they  went,  each  doing  all  he  knew,  and  there  wasn't  a  yard  be- 
tween them  when  they  pulled  up  at  the  island  moat. 

"I  say,"  said  East,  as  soon  as  he  got  his  wind,  looking  with 
much  increased  respect  at  Tom,  "you  ain't  a  bad  scud,  not  by  no 
means.     Well,  I'm  as  warm  as  a  toast  now." 

"But  why  do  you  wear  white  trousers  in  November.?"  said 
Tom.  He  had  been  struck  by  this  peculiarity  in  the  costume  of 
almost  all  the  School-house  boys. 

"Why,  bless  us,  don't  you  know  .? — No,  I  forgot.  Why,  to-day's 
the  School-house  match.  Our  house  plays  the  whole  of  the  School 
at  football.  And  we  all  wear  white  trousers  to  show  'em  we  don't 
care  for  hacks.  You're  in  luck  to  come  to-day.  You  just  will 
see  a  match;  and  Brooke's  going  to  let  me  play  in  quarters. 
That's  more  than  he'll  do  for  any  other  lower-school  boy,  except 
James,  and  he's  fourteen.'* 

"Who's  Brooke?" 

"Why,  that  big  fellow  who  called-over  at  dinner,  to  be  sure. 
He's  cock  of  the  school,  and  head  of  the  School-house  side,  and 
the  best  kick  and  charger  in  Rugby." 

"Oh,  but  do  show  me  where  they  play!  And  tell  me  about  it. 
I  love  football  so,  and  have  played  all  my  life.  Won't  Brooke  let 
me  play  ?" 

"Not  he,"  said  East,  with  some  indignation;  "why,  you  don't 
know  the  rules — you'll  be  a  month  learning  them.  And  then  it's 
no  joke  playing-up  in  a  match,  I  can  tell  you.  Quite  another 
thing  from  your  private -school  games.     Why,  there's  been  two 

[96] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

collar-bones  broken  this  half,  and  a  dozen  fellows  lamed.  And 
last  year  a  fellow  had  his  leg  broken." 

Tom  listened  with  the  profoundest  respect  to  this  chapter  of 
accidents,  and  followed  East  across  the  level  ground  till  they  came 
to  a  sort  of  gigantic  gallows  of  two  poles  eighteen  feet  high,  fixed 
upright  in  the  ground  some  fourteen  feet  apart,  with  a  cross-bar 
running  from  one  to  the  other  at  the  height  of  ten  feet  or  there- 
abouts. 

"This  is  one  of  the  goals,"  said  East,  "and  you  see  the  other 
across  there,  right  opposite,  under  the  Doctor's  wall.  Well,  the 
match  is  for  the  best  of  three  goals;  whichever  side  kicks  two 
goals  wins;  and  it  won't  do,  you  see,  just  to  kick  the  ball 
through  these  posts;  it  must  go  over  the  cross-bar;  any  height  '11 
do,  so  long  as  it's  between  the  posts.  You'll  have  to  stay  in  goal 
to  touch  the  ball  when  it  rolls  behind  the  posts,  because  if  the 
other  side  touch  it  they  have  a  try  at  goal.  Then  we  fellows  in 
quarters,  we  play  just  about  in  front  of  goal  here,  and  have  to 
turn  the  ball  and  kick  it  back  before  the  big  fellows  on  the  other 
side  can  follow  it  up.  And  in  front  of  us  all  the  big  fellows  pl^y> 
and  that's  where  the  scrummages  are  mostly." 

Tom's  respect  increased  as  he  struggled  to  make  out  his  friend's 
technicalities,  and  the  other  set  to  work  to  explain  the  mysteries 
of  "off  your  side,"  "drop-kicks,"  "punts,"  "places,"  and  the 
other  intricacies  of  the  great  science  of  football. 

"  But  how  do  you  keep  the  ball  between  the  goals  ?"  said  he. 
"I  can't  see  why  it  mightn't  go  right  down  to  the  chapel." 

"Why,  that's  out  of  play,"  answered  East.  "You  see  this 
gravel  walk  running  down  all  along  this  side  of  the  playing- 
ground,  and  the  line  of  elms  opposite  on  the  other  ?  Well,  they're 
the  bounds.  As  soon  as  the  ball  gets  past  them,  it's  in  touch,  and 
out  of  play.  And  then  whoever  first  touches  it  has  to  knock  it 
straight  out  among  the  players-up,  who  make  two  lines  with  a 
space  between  them,  every  fellow  going  on  his  own  side.  Ain't 
there  just  fine  scrummages  then!     And  the  three  trees  you  see 

[97] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

there  which  come  out  into  the  play,  that's  a  tremendous  place 
when  the  ball  hangs  there,  for  you  get  thrown  against  the  trees, 
and  that's  worse  than  any  hack." 

Tom  wondered  within  himself  as  they  strolled  back  again  tow- 
ard the  fives'- court  whether  the  matches  were  really  such  break- 
neck affairs  as  East  represented,  and  whether,  if  they  were,  he 
should  ever  get  to  Hke  them  and  play-up  well. 

He  hadn't  long  to  wonder,  however,  for  next  minute  East  cried 
out:  "Hurra!  here's  the  punt-about!  Come  along  and  try  your 
hand  at  a  kick!"  The  punt-about  is  the  practice-ball,  which  is 
just  brought  out  and  kicked  about  anyhow  from  one  boy  to  an- 
other before  callings-over  and  dinner  and  at  other  odd  times. 
They  joined  the  boys  who  had  brought  it  out,  all  small  School- 
house  fellows,  friends  of  East;  and  Tom  had  the  pleasure  of  try- 
ing his  skill,  and  performed  very  creditably,  after  first  driving  his 
foot  three  inches  into  the  ground,  and  then  nearly  kicking  his  leg 
into  the  air,  in  vigorous  efforts  to  accomplish  a  drop-kick  after 
the  manner  of  East. 

Presently  more  boys  and  bigger  came  out,  and  boys  from  other 
houses  on  their  way  to  calling-over,  and  more  balls  were  sent  for. 
The  crowd  thickened  as  three  o'clock  approached,  and  when  the 
hour  struck  one  hundred  and  fifty  boys  were  hard  at  work.  Then 
the  balls  were  held,  the  master  of  the  week  came  down  in  cap 
and  gown  to  calling-over,  and  the  whole  school  of  three  hundred 
boys  swept  into  the  big  school  to  answer  to  their  names. 

"I  may  come  in,  mayn't  I  .?"  said  Tom,  catching  East  by  the 
arm  and  longing  to  feel  one  of  them. 

"Yes,  come  along;  nobody  '11  say  anything.  You  won't  be  so 
eager  to  get  into  calling-over  after  a  month,"  replied  his  friend; 
and  they  marched  into  the  big  school  together,  and  up  to  the 
farther  end,  where  that  illustrious  form,  the  lower  fourth,  which 
had  the  honor  of  East's  patronage  for  the  time  being,  stood. 

The  master  mounted  into  the  high  desk  by  the  door,  and  one 
of  the  praepostors  of  the  week  stood  by  him  on  the  steps,  the  other 

[98] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

three  marching  up  and  down  the  middle  of  the  school  with  their 
canes,  calling  out  "Silence!  silence!"  The  sixth  form  stood  close 
by  the  door  on  the  left,  some  thirty  in  number,  mostly  great,  big, 
grown  men,  as  Tom  thought,  surveying  them  from  a  distance  with 
awe.  The  fifth  form  behind  them,  twice  their  number  and  not 
quite  so  big.  These  on  the  left;  and  on  the  right  the  lower  fifth, 
shell,  and  all  the  junior  forms  in  order;  while  up  the  middle 
marched  the  three  praepostors. 

Then  the  praepostor  who  stands  by  the  master  calls  out  the 
names,  beginning  with  the  sixth  form,  and,  as  he  calls,  each  boy 
answers  "Here"  to  his  name  and  walks  out.  Some  of  the  sixth 
stop  at  the  door  to  turn  the  whole  string  of  boys  into  the  close; 
if  is  a  great-match  day,  and  every  boy  in  the  school,  will-he,  nill- 
he,  must  be  there.  The  rest  of  the  sixth  go  forward  into  the  close 
to  see  that  no  one  escapes  by  any  of  the  side-gates. 

To-day,  however,  being  the  School-house  match,  none  of  the 
School-house  praepostors  stay  by  the  door  to  watch  for  truants  of 
their  side;  there  is  carte  blanche  to  the  School-house  fags  to  go 
where  they  like.  "They  trust  to  our  honor,"  as  East  proudly 
informs  Tom;  "they  know  very  well  that  no  School-house  boy 
would  cut  the  match.  If  he  did,  we'd  very  soon  cut  him,  I  can 
tell  you." 

The  master  of  the  week  oeing  short-sighted,  and  the  praepostors 
of  the  week  small  and  not  well  up  to  their  work,  the  lower-school 
boys  employ  the  ten  minutes  which  elapse  before  their  names  are 
called  in  pelting  one  another  vigorously  with  acorns,  which  fly 
about  in  all  directions.  The  small  praepostors  dash  in  every  now 
and  then,  and  generally  chastise  some  quiet,  timid  boy  who  is 
equally  afraid  of  acorns  and  canes,  while  the  principal  performers 
get  dexterously  out  of  the  way;  and  so  calling-over  rolls  on  some- 
how, much  like  the  big  world,  punishments  lighting  on  wrong 
shoulders  and  matters  going  generally  in  a  queer,  cross-grained 
way;  but  the  end  coming  somehow,  which  is,  after  all,  the  great 
point.     And  now  the  master  of  the  week  has  finished,  and  locked 

[99] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

up  the  big  school;  and  the  praepostors  of  the  week  come  out, 
sweeping  the  last  remnant  of  the  school  fags — who  had  been 
loafing  about  the  corners  by  the  fives'-court,  in  hopes  of  a  chance 
of  bolting — before  them  into  the  close. 

"Hold  the  punt-about!"  "To  the  goals!"  are  the  cries,  and 
all  stray  balls  are  impounded  by  the  authorities;  and  the  whole 
mass  of  boys  moves  up  toward  the  two  goals,  dividing  as  they 
go  into  three  bodies.  That  little  band  on  the  left,  consisting  of 
from  fifteen  to  twenty  boys,  Tom  among  them,  who  are  making 
for  the  goal  under  the  School-house  wall,  are  the  School-house 
boys  who  are  not  to  play-up,  and  have  to  stay  in  goal.  The  larger 
body  moving  to  the  island  goal  are  the  school-boys  in  a  like 
predicament.  The  great  mass  in  the  middle  are  the  players-up, 
both  sides  mingled  togethe  ;  they  are  hanging  their  jackets,  and, 
all  who  mean  real  work,  their  hats,  waistcoats,  neck-handker- 
chiefs, and  braces  on  the  railings  round  the  small  trees;  and 
there  they  go  by  twos  and  threes  up  to  their  respective  grounds. 
There  is  none  of  the  color  and  tastiness  of  get-up,  you  will  per- 
ceive, which  lends  such  a  life  to  the  present  game  at  Rugby,  mak- 
ing the  dullest  and  worse -fought  match  a  pretty  sight.  Now 
each  house  has  its  own  uniform  of  cap  and  jersey,  of  some  lively 
color;  but,  at  the  time  we  are  speaking  of,  plush  caps  have  not  yet 
come  in  or  uniforms  of  any  sort,  except  the  School-house  white 
trousers,  which  are  abominably  cold  to-day:  let  us  get  to  work, 
bareheaded  and  girded  with  our  plain  leather  straps  —  but  we 
mean  business,  gentlemen. 

And  now  that  the  tv/o  sides  have  fairly  sundered,  and  each 
occupies  its  own  ground,  and  we  get  a  good  look  at  them,  what 
absurdity  is  this  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  those  fifty  or  sixty 
boys  in  white  trousers,  many  of  them  quite  small,  are  going  to 
play  that  huge  mass  opposite  .?  Indeed  I  do,  gentlemen;  they're 
going  to  try,  at  any  rate,  and  won't  make  such  a  bad  fight  of  it, 
either,  mark  my  word;  for  hasn't  old  Brooke  won  the  toss,  with 
his  lucky  halfpenny,  and  got  choice  of  goals  and  kick-off"?     The 

[lOo] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

new  ball  you  may  see  lie  there  quite  by  itself,  in  the  middle,  point- 
ing toward  the  School  or  island  goal;  in  another  minute  it  will  be 
well  on  its  way  there.  Use  that  minute  in  remarking  how  the 
School-house  side  is  drilled.  You  will  see,  in  the  first  place,  that 
the  sixth-form  boy,  who  has  the  charge  of  goal,  has  spread  his 
force  (the  goal-keepers)  so  as  to  occupy  the  whole  space  behind 
the  goal-posts,  at  distances  of  about  five  yards  apart;  a  safe  and 
well-kept  goal  is  the  foundation  of  all  good  play.  Old  Brooke  is 
talking  to  the  captain  of  quarters;  and  now  he  moves  away;  see 
how  that  youngster  spreads  his  men  (the  light  brigade)  carefully 
over  the  ground,  half-way  between  their  own  goal  and  the  body 
of  their  own  players-up  (the  heavy  brigade).  These  again  play 
in  several  bodies;  there  is  young  Brooke  and  the  bulldogs — mark 
them  well — they  are  the  "fighting  brigade,"  the  "die-hards," 
larking  about  at  leap-frog  to  keep  themselves  warm,  and  playing 
.tricks  on  one  another.  And  on  each  side  of  old  Brooke,  who  is 
now  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  ground  and  just  going  to  kick 
off*,  you  see  a  separate  wing  of  players-up,  each  with  a  boy  of 
acknowledged  prowess  to  look  to — here  Warner,  and  there  Hedge; 
but  over  all  is  old  Brooke,  absolute  as  he  of  Russia,  but  wisely 
and  bravely  ruling  over  willing  and  worshipping  subjects,  a 
true  football  king.  His  face  is  earnest  and  careful  as  he 
glances  a  last  time  over  his  array,  but  full  of  pluck  and  hope, 
the  sort  of  look  I  hope  to  see  in  my  general  when  I  go  out  to 

fight- 

The  School  side  is  not  organized  in  the  same  way.  The  goal- 
keepers are  all  in  lumps,  anyhow  and  nohow;  you  can't  distinguish 
between  the  players-up  and  the  boys  in  quarters,  and  there  is 
divided  leadership;  but  with  such  odds  in  strength  and  weight  it 
must  take  more  than  that  to  hinder  them  from  winnincr;  and  so 
their  leaders  seem  to  think,  for  they  let  the  players-up  manage 
themselves. 

But  now  look,  there  Is  a  slight  move  forward  of  the  School- 
house  wings;   a  shout  of  "Are  you  ready?"  and  loud  afiirmative 

[lOl] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

reply.  Old  Brooke  takes  half  a  dozen  quick  steps,  and  away  goes 
the  ball  spinning  toward  the  School  goal;  seventy  yards  before  it 
touches  ground,  and  at  no  point  above  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  high — 
a  model  kick-off;  and  the  School-house  cheer  and  rush  on;  the 
ball  is  returned,  and  they  meet  it  and  drive  it  back  among  the 
masses  of  the  School  already  in  motion.  Then  the  two  sides 
close,  and  you  can  see  nothing  for  minutes  but  a  swaying  crowd 
of  boys,  at  one  point  violently  agitated.  That  is  where  the  ball 
is,  and  there  are  the  keen  players  to  be  met,  and  the  glory  and  the 
hard  knocks  to  be  got;  you  hear  the  dull  thud,  thud  of  the  ball, 
and  the  shouts  of  "Off  your  side!"  "Down  with  him!"  "Put  him 
over!"  "Bravo!"  This  is  what  we  call  a  scrummage,  gentlemen, 
and  the  first  scrummage  in  a  School-house  match  was  no  joke 
in  the  consulship  of  Plancus. 

But  see!  it  has  broken;  the  ball  is  driven  out  on  the  School- 
house  side,  and  a  rush  of  the  School  carries  it  past  the  School-house 
players-up.  "Look  out  in  quarters!"  Brooke's  and  twenty  other 
voices  ring  out;  no  need  to  call,  though;  the  School-house  captain 
of  quarters  has  caught  it  on  the  bound,  dodges  the  foremost  School 
boys,  who  are  heading  the  rush,  and  sends  it  back  with  a  good 
drop-kick  well  into  the  enemy's  country.  And  then  follows  rush 
upon  rush,  and  scrummage  upon  scrummage,  the  ball  now  driven 
through  into  the  School-house  quarters,  and  now  into  the  School 
goal;  for  the  School-house  have  not  lost  the  advantage  which  the 
kick-off  and  a  slight  wind  gave  them  at  the  outset,  and  are  slightly 
"penning"  their  adversaries.  You  say  you  don't  see  much  in  it 
all;  nothing  but  a  struggling  mass  of  boys,  and  a  leather  ball, 
which  seems  to  excite  them  all  to  great  fury,  as  a  red  rag  does  a 
bull.  My  dear  sir,  a  battle  would  look  much  the  same  to  you, 
except  that  the  boys  would  be  men  and  the  balls  iron;  but  a  battle 
would  be  worth  your  looking  at  for  all  that,  and  so  is  a  football- 
match.  You  can't  be  expected  to  appreciate  the  delicate  strokes 
of  play,  the  turns  by  which  a  game  is  lost  and  won — it  takes  an  old 
player  to  do  that — but  the  broad  philosophy  of  football  you  can 

[102] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

understand  if  you  will.  Come  along  with  me  a  little  nearer,  and 
let  us  consider  it  together. 

The  ball  has  just  fallen  again  where  the  two  sides  are  thickest, 
and  they  close  rapidly  around  it  in  a  scrummage;  it  must  be 
driven  through  now  by  force  or  skill,  till  it  flies  out  on  one  side 
or  the  other.  Look  how  differently  the  boys  face  it!  Here  come 
two  of  the  bulldogs,  bursting  through  the  outsiders;  in  they  go, 
straight  to  the  heart  of  the  scrummage,  bent  on  driving  that  ball 
out  on  the  opposite  side.  That  is  what  they  mean  to  do.  My 
sons,  my  sons!  you  are  too  hot;  you  have  gone  past  the  ball,  and 
must  struggle  now  right  through  the  scrummage,  and  get  round 
and  back  again  to  your  own  side,  before  you  can  be  of  any  further 
use.  Here  comes  young  Brooke;  he  goes  in  as  straight  as  you, 
but  keeps  his  head,  and  backs  and  bends,  holding  himself  still 
behind  the  ball,  and  driving  it  furiously  when  he  gets  the  chance. 
Take  a  leaf  out  of  his  book,  you  young  chargers.  Here  come 
Speedicut,  and  Flashman,  the  School-house  bully,  with  shouts  and 
great  action.  Won't  you  two  come  up  to  young  Brooke,  after 
locking-up,  by  the  School-house  fire,  with  "Old  fellow,  wasn't  that 
just  a  splendid  scrummage  by  the  three  trees!"  But  he  knows 
you,  and  so  do  we.  You  don't  really  want  to  drive  that  ball 
through  that  scrummage,  chancing  all  hurt  for  the  glory  of  the 
School-house — but  to  make  us  think  that's  what  you  want — a  vastly 
different  thing;  and  fellows  of  your  kidney  will  never  go  through 
more  than  the  skirts  of  a  scrummage,  where  it's  all  push  and  no 
kicking.  We  respect  boys  who  keep  out  of  it,  and  don't  sham 
going  in;   but  you — we  had  rather  not  say  what  we  think  of  you. 

Then  the  boys  who  are  bending  and  watching  on  the  outside, 
mark  them — they  are  most  useful  players,  the  dodgers;  who  seize 
on  the  ball  the  moment  it  rolls  out  from  among  the  chargers,  and 
away  with  it  across  to  the  opposite  goal;  they  seldom  go  into  the 
scrummage,  but  must  have  more  coolness  than  the  chargers:  as 
endless  as  are  boys'  characters,  so  are  their  ways  of  facing  or  not 
facing  a  scrummage  at  football. 

[103] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  are  gone;  first  winds  are  falling,  and 
weight  and  numbers  beginning  to  tell.  Yard  by  vard  the  School- 
house  have  been  driven  back,  contesting  every  inch  of  ground. 
The  bulldogs  are  the  color  of  mother  earth  from  shoulder  to 
ankle,  except  voung  Brooke,  who  has  a  marvellous  knack  of 
keeping  his  legs.  The  School-house  are  being  penned  in  their 
turn,  and  now  the  ball  is  behind  their  goal,  under  the  Doctor's 
wall.  The  Doctor  and  some  of  his  familv  are  there  looking  on, 
and  seem  as  anxious  as  any  boy  for  the  success  of  the  School- 
house.  We  get  a  minute's  breathing-time  before  old  Brooke  kicks 
out,  and  he  gives  the  word  to  play  strongly  for  touch  by  the 
three  trees.  Away  goes  the  ball,  and  the  bulldogs  after  it,  and 
in  another  minute  there  is  a  shout  of  "In  touch!"  "Our  ball!" 
Now's  vour  time,  old  Brooke,  while  your  men  are  still  fresh.  He 
stands  with  the  ball  in  his  hand,  while  the  two  sides  form  in  deep 
lines  opposite  each  other;  he  must  strike  it  straight  out  between 
them.  The  lines  are  thickest  close  to  him,  but  young  Brooke 
and  two  or  three  of  his  men  are  shifting  up  farther,  w^here  the 
opposite  line  is  w^eak.  Old  Brooke  strikes  it  out  straight  and 
strong,  and  it  falls  opposite  his  brother.  Hurra!  that  rush  has 
taken  it  right  through  the  School  line,  and  away  past  the  three 
trees,  far  into  their  quarters,  and  young  Brooke  and  the  bulldogs 
are  close  upon  it.  The  School  leaders  rush  back  shouting," Look 
out  in  goal!"  and  strain  every  nerve  to  catch  him,  but  they  are 
after  the  fleetest  foot  in  Rugby.  There  they  go  straight  for  the 
School  goal-posts,  quarters  scattering  before  them.  One  after 
another  the  bulldogs  go  down,  but  young  Brooke  holds  on.  "He 
is  down!"  No!  a  long  stagger,  and  the  danger  is  past;  that  was 
the  shock  of  Crew,  the  most  dangerous  of  dodgers.  And  now  he 
is  close  to  the  School  goal,  the  ball  not  three  yards  before  him. 
There  is  a  hurried  rush  of  the  School  fags  to  the  spot,  but  no  one 
throws  himself  on  the  ball,  the  only  chance,  and  young  Brooke 
has  touched  it  right  under  the  School  goal-posts. 

The  School  leaders  come  up  furious,  and  administer  toco  to 

[104] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

the  wretched  fags  nearest  at  hand;  they  may  well  be  angry,  for 
it  is  all  Lombard  Street  to  a  china  orange  that  the  School-house 
kick  a  goal  with  the  ball  touched  in  such  a  good  place.  Old 
Brooke,  of  course,  will  kick  it  out,  but  who  shall  catch  and  place 
it  ?  Call  Crab  Jones.  Here  he  comes,  sauntering  along  with  a 
straw  in  his  mouth,  the  queerest,  coolest  fish  in  Rugby.  If  he 
were  tumbled  into  the  moon  this  minute,  he  would  just  pick  him- 
self up  without  taking  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets  or  turning  a 
hair.  But  it  is  a  moment  when  the  boldest  charger's  heart  beats 
quick.  Old  Brooke  stands  with  the  ball  under  his  arm  motion- 
ing the  School  back;  he  will  not  kick-out  till  they  are  all  in  goal, 
behind  the  posts;  they  are  all  edging  forward,  inch  by  inch,  to 
get  nearer  for  the  rush  at  Crab  Jones,  who  stands  there  in  front 
of  old  Brooke  to  catch  the  ball.  If  they  can  reach  and  destroy 
him  before  he  catches,  the  danger  is  over;  and  with  one  and  the 
same  rush  they  will  carry  it  right  away  to  the  School-house  goal. 
Fond  hope!  it  is  kicked  out  and  caught  beautifully.  Crab  strikes 
his  heel  into  the  ground  to  mark  the  spot  where  the  ball  was 
caught,  beyond  which  the  School  line  may  not  advance;  but  there 
they  stand,  five  deep,  ready  to  rush  the  moment  the  ball  touches 
the  ground.  Take  plenty  of  room!  don't  give  the  rush  a  chance 
of  reaching  you!  place  it  true  and  steady!  Trust  Crab  Jones — 
he  has  made  a  small  hole  with  his  heel  for  the  ball  to  lie  on,  by 
which  he  is  resting  on  one  knee,  with  his  eye  on  old  Brooke. 
"Now!"  Crab  places  the  ball  at  the  word,  old  Brooke  kicks,  and 
it  rises  slowly  and  truly  as  the  School  rush  forward. 

Then  a  moment's  pause,  while  both  sides  look  up  at  the  spin- 
ning ball.  There  it  flies,  straight  between  the  two  posts,  some 
five  feet  above  the  cross-bar,  an  unquestioned  goal;  and  a  shout 
of  real,  genuine  joy  rings  out  from  the  School-house  players-up, 
and  a  faint  echo  of  it  comes  over  the  close  from  the  goal- 
keepers under  the  Doctor's  wall.  A  goal  in  the  first  hour — such 
a  thing  hasn't  been  done  in  the  School-house  match  this  five 
years. 

9  [  105  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Over!"  is  the  cry;  the  two  sides  change  goals,  and  the  School- 
house  goal-keepers  come  threading  their  way  across  through  the 
masses  of  the  School;  the  most  openly  triumphant  of  them,  among 
whom  is  Tom,  a  School-house  boy  of  two  hours'  standing,  getting 
their  ears  boxed  in  the  transit.  Tom,  indeed,  is  excited  beyond 
measure,  and  it  is  all  the  sixth -form  boy,  kindest  and  safest 
of  goal-keepers,  has  been  able  to  do  to  keep  him  from  rush- 
ing out  whenever  the  ball  has  been  near  their  goal.  So  he 
holds  him  by  his  side  and  instructs  him  in  the  science  of 
touching. 

At  this  moment  Griffith,  the  itinerant  vender  of  oranges  from 
Hill  Morton,  enters  the  close  with  his  heavy  baskets;  there  is  a 
rush  of  small  boys  upon  the  little,  pale-faced  man,  the  two  sides 
mingling  together,  subdued  by  the  great  Goddess  Thirst,  like  the 
English  and  French  by* the  streams  in  the  Pyrenees.  The  leaders 
are  past  oranges  and  apples,  but  some  of  them  visit  their  coats 
and  apply  innocent-looking  ginger-beer  bottles  to  their  mouths. 
It  is  no  ginger-beer,  though,  I  fear,  and  will  do  you  no  good.  One 
short,  mad  rush,  and  then  a  stitch  in  the  side,  and  no  more  honest 
play;    that's  what  comes  of  those  bottles. 

But  now  Griffith's  baskets  are  empty,  the  ball  is  placed  again 
midway,  and  the  School  are  going  to  kick  off.  Their  leaders 
have  sent  their  lumber  into  goal  and  rated  the  rest  soundly,  and 
one  hundred  and  twenty  picked  players-up  are  there,  bent  on 
retrieving  the  game.  They  are  to  keep  the  ball  in  front  of  the 
School-house  goal,  and  then  to  drive  it  in  by  sheer  strength  and 
weight.  They  mean  heavy  play  and  no  mistake,  and  so  old 
Brooke  sees;  and  places  Crab  Jones  in  quarters  just  before  the 
goal,  with  four  or  five  picked  players,  who  are  to  keep  the  ball 
away  to  the  sides,  where  a  try  at  goal,  if  obtained,  will  be 
less  dangerous  than  in  front.  He  himself,  and  Warner  and 
Hedge,  who  have  saved  themselves  till  now,  will  lead  the 
charges. 

"Are  you  ready.?"     "Yes."     And  away  comes  the  ball  kicked 

[io6] 


H^i^^^A.      .; 


--* 

1 

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1  1  ■"'•'. 

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■  ■m 

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m 

"GET  UP  THERE— THERE'S  A  LITTLE  FELLOW  UNDER 

YOU" 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

high  in  the  air,  to  give  the  School  time  to  rush  on  and  catch  it  as 
it  falls.  And  here  they  are  among  us.  Meet  them  like  English- 
men, you  School-house  boys,  and  charge  them  home.  Now  is  the 
time  to  show  what  mettle  is  in  you — and  there  shall  be  a  warm 
seat  by  the  hall  fire,  and  honor,  and  lots  of  bottled  beer  to-night 
for  him  who  does  his  duty  in  the  ne.xt  half-hour.  And  they  are 
well  met.  Again  and  again  the  cloud  of  their  players-up  gathers 
before  our  goal,  and  comes  threatening  on,  and  Warner  or  Hedge, 
with  young  Brooke  and  the  relics  of  the  bulldogs,  break  through 
and  carry  the  ball  back;  and  old  Brooke  ranges  the  field  like  Job's 
war-horse — the  thickest  scrummage  parts  asunder  before  his  rush, 
like  the  waves  before  a  clipper's  bows;  his  cheer}*  voice  rings  over 
the  field,  and  his  eye  is  even'where.  And  if  these  miss  the  ball, 
and  it  rolls  dangerously  in  front  of  our  goal,  Crab  Jones  and  his 
men  have  seized  it  and  sent  it  awav  toward  the  sides  with  the 
unerring  drop-kick.  This  is  worth  living  for;  the  whole  sum  of 
school-boy  existence  gathered  up  into  one  straining,  struggling 
half-hour,  a  half-hour  wonh  a  year  of  common  life. 

The  quarter  to  five  has  struck,  and  the  play  slackens  for  a 
minute  before  goal;  but  there  is  Crew,  the  artful  dodger,  driving 
the  ball  in  behind  our  goal,  on  the  island  side,  where  our  quarters 
are  weakest.  Is  there  no  one  to  meet  him  r  \es\  look  at  little 
East! — the  ball  is  just  at  equal  distances  bet%veen  the  two,  and  they 
rush  together,  the  young  man  of  seventeen  and  the  boy  of  t^velve, 
and  kick  it  at  the  same  moment.  Crew  passes  on  without  a 
stagger;  East  is  hurled  forward  by  the  shock,  and  plunges  on  his 
shoulders  as  if  he  would  bury  himself  in  the  ground;  but  the  ball 
rises  straight  into  the  air,  and  falls  behind  Crew's  back,  while  the 
"bravos"  of  the  School-house  attest  the  pluckiest  charge  of  all  that 
hard-fought  day.  Warner  picks  East  up  lame  and  half  stunned, 
and  he  hobbles  back  into  goal  conscious  of  having  played  the 
man. 

And  now  the  last  minutes  are  come,  and  the  School  gather  for 
their  last  rush  every  boy  of  the  hundred  and  t^^sentv  who  has  a 

[109] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

run  left  in  him.  Reckless  of  the  defence  of  their  own  goal,  on 
they  come  across  the  level  big-side  ground,  the  ball  well  down 
among  them,  straight  for  our  goal,  like  the  column  of  the  Old 
Guard  up  the  slope  at  Waterloo.  All  former  charges  have  been 
child's  play  to  this.  Warner  and  Hedge  have  met  them,  but  still 
on  they  come.  The  bulldogs  rush  in  for  the  last  time;  they  are 
hurled  over  or  carried  back,  striving  hand,  foot,  and  eyelids.  Old 
Brooke  comes  sweeping  round  the  skirts  of  the  play,  and,  turning 
short  round,  picks  out  the  very  heart  of  the  scrummage  and 
plunges  in.  It  wavers  for  a  moment — he  has  the  ball!  No,  it 
has  passed  him,  and  his  voice  rings  out  clear  over  the  advancing 
tide,  "Look  out  in  goal!"  Crab  Jones  catches  it  for  a  moment; 
but  before  he  can  kick  the  rush  is  upon  him  and  passes  over  him; 
and  he  picks  himself  up  behind  them,  with  his  straw  in  his  mouth, 
a  little  dirtier,  but  as  cool  as  ever. 

The  ball  rolls  slowly  in  behind  the  School-house  goal  not  three 
yards  in  front  of  a  dozen  of  the  biggest  School  players-up. 

There  stand  the  School-house  praepostor,  safest  of  goal-keepers, 
and  Tom  Brown  by  his  side,  who  has  learned  his  trade  by  this 
time.  Now  is  your  time,  Tom.  The  blood  of  all  the  Browns  is 
up,  and  the  two  rush  in  together  and  throw  themselves  on  the 
ball,  under  the  very  feet  of  the  advancing  column — the  praepostor 
on  his  hands  and  knees,  arching  his  back,  and  Tom  all  along  on 
his  face.  Over  them  topple  the  leaders  of  the  rush,  shooting  over 
the  back  of  the  praepostor,  but  falling  flat  on  Tom  and  knocking 
all  the  wind  out  of  his  small  carcass.  "Our  ball!"  says  the  prae- 
postor, rising  with  his  prize;  "but  get  up  there — there's  a  little 
fellow  under  you."  They  are  hauled  and  rolled  off  him,  and 
Tom  is  discovered  a  motionless  body. 

Old  Brooke  picks  him  up.  "Stand  back;  give  him  air,"  he 
says;  and  then,  feeling  his  limbs,  adds,  "No  bones  broken.  How 
do  you  feel,  young  un  ?" 

'Hah-hah,"  gasps  Tom,  as  his  wind  comes  back,  "pretty  well, 
thank  you — all  right." 

[no] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"Who  is  he  ?"  says  Brooke.  "Oh,  it's  Brown;  he's  a  new  boy; 
I  know  him,"  says  East,  coming  up. 

"Well,  he  is  a  plucky  youngster,  and  will  make  a  player,"  says 
Brooke. 

And  five  o'clock  strikes.  "No  side"  is  called,  and  the  first  day 
of  the  School-house  match  is  over. 


TOM    BROWN'S 


CHAPTER  VI 


AFTER   THE    MATCH 

Some  food  we  had." — Shakespeare. 
Hg  TTUTog  cidvg. — TheoCRITUS. 


S  the  boys  scattered  away  from  the  ground, 
and  East,  leaning  on  Tom's  arm  and  hmping 
along,  was  beginning  to  consider  what  luxury 
they  should  go  and  buy  for  tea  to  celebrate 
that  glorious  victory,  the  two  Brookes  came 
striding  by.  Old  Brooke  caught  sight  of  East, 
and    stopped;    put   his    hand    kindly   on    his 

shoulder  and  said,  "Bravo,  youngster!  you  played  famously;  not 

much  the  matter,  I  hope  .?" 

"No,  nothing  at  all,"  said  East — "only  a  little  twist  from  that 

charge." 

"Well,  mind   and  get  all  right  for  next  Saturday";  and  the 

leader  passed  on,  leaving  East  better  for  those  few  words  than 

all  the  opodeldoc  in  England  would  have  made  him,  and  Tom 

[.12] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

ready  to  give  one  of  his  ears  for  as  much  notice.  Ah !  Hglit  words 
of  those  whom  we  love  and  honor,  what  a  power  ye  are,  and  how 
carelessly  wielded  by  those  who  can  use  you!  Surely  for  these 
things  also  God  will  ask  an  account. 

"Tea's  directly  after  locking-up,  you  see,"  said  East,  hohhling 
along  as  fast  as  he  could,  "so  you  come  along  down  to  Sally 
Harrowell's;  that's  our  School-house  tuck-shop — she  bakes  such 
stunning  murphies— we'll  have  a  penn'orth  each  for  tea;  come 
along,  or  they'll  all  be  gone." 

Tom's  new  purse  and  money  burned  in  his  pocket;  he  won- 
dered, as  they  toddled  through  the  quadrangle  and  along  the 
street,  whether  East  would  be  insulted  if  he  suggested  further 
extravagance,  as  he  had  not  sufficient  faith  in  a  pennyworth  of 
potatoes.     At  last  he  blurted  out: 

"I  say,  East,  can't  we  get  something  else  besides  potatoes.? 
I've  got  lots  of  money,  you  know." 

"Bless  us,  yes,  I  forgot,"  said  East;  "you've  only  just  come. 
You  see,  all  my  tin's  been  gone  this  twelve  weeks — it  hardly  ever 
lasts  beyond  the  first  fortnight;  and  our  allowances  were  all 
stopped  this  morning  for  broken  windows,  so  I  haven't  got  a 
penny.  I've  got  a  tick  at  Sally's,  of  course;  but  then  I  hate  run- 
ning it  high,  you  see,  toward  the  end  of  the  half,  'cause  one  has 
to  shell'out  for  it  all  directly  one  comes  back,  and  that's  a  bore." 
Tom  didn't  understand  much  of  this  talk,  but  seized  on  the 
fact  that  East  had  no  money  and  was  denying  himself  some  little 
pet  luxury  in  consequence.  "Well,  what  shall  I  buy.?"  said  he; 
"I'm  uncommon  hungry." 

"I  say,"  said  East,  stopping  to  look  at  him  and  rest  his  leg, 
"you're  a  trump.  Brown.  I'll  do  the  same  by  you  next  half. 
Let's  have  a  pound  of  sausages,  then;  that's  the  best  grub  for 
tea  I  know  of." 

"Very  well,"  said  Tom,  as  pleased  as  possible;  "where  do 
they  sell  them  ?" 

"Oh,  over  here,  just  opposite";    and  they  crossed  the  street 

[■>3] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

and  walked  into  the  cleanest  little  front  room  of  a  small  house, 
half  parlor,  half  shop,  and  bought  a  pound  of  most  particular 
sausages;  East  talking  pleasantly  to  Mrs.  Porter  while  she  put 
them  in  paper,  and  Tom  doing  the  paying  part. 

From  Porter's  they  adjourned  to  Sally  Harrowell's,  where  they 
found  a  lot  of  School-house  boys  waiting  for  the  roast  potatoes 
and  relating  their  own  exploits  in  the  day's  match  at  the  top  of 
their  voices.  The  street  opened  at  once  into  Sally's  kitchen,  a 
low,  brick-floored  room,  with  large  recess  for  fire  and  chimney- 
corner  seats.  Poor  little  Sally,  the  most  good-natured  and  much- 
enduring  of  womankind,  was  bustling  about,  with  a  napkin  in 
her  hand,  from  her  own  oven  to  those  of  the  neighbors'  cottages 
up  the  yard  at  the  back  of  the  house.  Stumps,  her  husband,  a 
short,  easy-going  shoemaker,  with  a  beery,  humorous  eye  and 
ponderous  calves,  who  lived  mostly  on  his  wife's  earnings,  stood 
in  a  corner  of  the  room,  exchanging  shots  of  the  roughest  descrip- 
tion of  repartee  with  every  boy  in  turn.  "Stumps,  you  lout, 
you've  had  too  much  beer  again  to-day."  "'Twasn't  of  your 
paying  for,  then."  "Stumps's  calves  are  running  down  into  his 
ankles;  they  want  to  get  to  grass."  "Better  be  doing  that  than 
gone  altogether  like  yours,"  etc.,  etc.  Very  poor  stuff  it  was,  but  it 
served  to  make  time  pass;  and  every  now  and  then  Sally  arrived 
in  the  middle  with  a  smoking  tin  of  potatoes,  which  were  cleared 
ofi^  in  a  few  seconds,  each  boy  as  he  seized  his  lot  running  ofi^  to 
the  house  with  "Put  me  down  two-penn'orth,  Sally";  "Put  down 
three -penn'orth  between  me  and  Davis,"  etc.  How  she  ever 
kept  the  accounts  so  straight  as  she  did,  in  her  head  and  on  her 
slate,  was  a  perfect  wonder. 

East  and  Tom  got  served  at  last,  and  started  back  for  the 
School-house  just  as  the  locking- up  bell  began  to  ring.  East  on 
the  way  recounting  the  life  and  adventures  of  Stumps,  who  was 
a  character.  Among  his  other  small  avocations,  he  was  the  hind 
carrier  of  a  sedan-chair,  the  last  of  its  race,  in  which  the  Rugby 
ladies  still  went  out  to  tea,  and  in  which,  when  he  was  fairly 

[114] 


cr^-"  -"^ti 


IT 


1^ 


SET  TOM  TO  TOAST  THE  SAUSAGES 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

harnessed  and  carrying  a  load,  it  was  the  dehght  of  small  and 
mischievous  boys  to  follow  him  and  whip  his  calves.  This  was 
too  much  for  the  temper  even  of  Stumps,  and  he  would  pursue 
his  tormentors  in  a  vindictive  and  apoplectic  manner  when 
released,  but  was  easily  pacified  by  twopence  to  buy  beer 
with. 

The  lower-school  boys  of  the  School-house,  some  fifteen  in 
number,  had  tea  in  the  lower-fifth  school,  and  were  presided  over 
by  the  old  verger  or  head-porter.  Each  boy  had  a  quarter  of  a 
loaf  of  bread  and  a  pat  of  butter,  and  as  much  tea  as  he  pleased; 
and  there  was  scarcely  one  who  didn't  add  to  this  some  further 
luxury,  such  as  baked  potatoes,  a  herring,  sprats,  or  something 
of  the  sort;  but  few,  at  this  period  of  the  half-year,  could  live  up 
to  a  pound  of  Porter's  sausages,  and  East  was  in  great  magnificence 
upon  the  strength  of  theirs.  He  had  produced  a  toasting-fork 
from  his  study,  and  set  Tom  to  toast  the  sausages,  while  he 
mounted  guard  over  their  butter  and  potatoes,  '"cause,"  as  he 
explained,  "you're  a  new  boy,  and  they'll  play  you  some  trick 
and  get  our  butter,  but  you  can  toast  just  as  well  as  I."  So  Tom, 
in  the  midst  of  three  or  four  more  urchins  similarly  employed, 
toasted  his  face  and  the  sausages  at  the  same  time  before  the  huge 
fire,  till  the  latter  cracked,  when  East  from  his  watch  -  tower 
shouted  that  they  were  done;  and  then  the  feast  proceeded,  and 
the  festive  cups  of  tea  were  filled  and  emptied,  and  Tom  imparted 
of  the  sausages  in  small  bits  to  many  neighbors,  and  thought  he 
had  never  tasted  such  good  potatoes  or  seen  such  jolly  boys.  They, 
on  their  parts,  waived  all  ceremony  and  pegged  away  at  the 
sausages  and  potatoes,  and,  remembering  Tom's  performance  in 
goal,  voted  East's  new  crony  a  brick.  After  tea,  and  while  the 
things  were  being  cleared  away,  they  gathered  round  the  fire, 
and  the  talk  on  the  match  still  went  on;  and  those  who  had  them 
to  show  pulled  up  their  trousers  and  showed  the  hacks  they  had 
received  in  the  good  cause. 

They  were  soon,  however,  all  turned  out  of  the  school,  and 


TOM    BROWN'S 

East  conducted  Tom  up  to  his  bedroom,  that  he  might  get  on 
clean  things  and  wash  himself  before  singing. 

"What's  singing?"  said  Tom,  taking  his  head  out  of  his  basin, 
where  he  had  been  plunging  it  in  cold  water. 

"Well,  you  are  jolly  green,"  answered  his  friend  from  a  neigh- 
boring basin.  "Why,  the  last  six  Saturdays  of  every  half  we 
sing,  of  course,  and  this  is  the  first  of  them.  No  first  lesson  to 
do,  you  know,  and  lie  in  bed  to-morrow  morning." 

"  But  who  sings  ?" 

"Why,  everybody,  of  course;  you'll  see  soon  enough.  We 
begin  directly  after  supper  and  sing  till  bedtime.  It  ain't  such 
good  fun  now,  though,  as  in  the  summer  half,  'cause  then  we  sing 
in  the  little  fives'-court,  under  the  library,  you  know.  We  take 
our  tables,  and  the  big  boys  sit  round  and  drink  beer — double 
allowance  on  Saturday  nights;  and  we  cut  about  the  quadrangle 
between  the  songs,  and  it  looks  like  a  lot  of  robbers  in  a  cave. 
And  the  louts  come  and  pound  at  the  great  gates,  and  we  pound 
back  again  and  shout  at  them.  But  this  half  we  only  sing  in 
the  hall.     Come  along  down  to  my  study." 

Their  principal  employment  in  the  study  was  to  clear  out 
East's  table,  removing  the  drawers  and  ornaments  and  table- 
cloth; for  he  lived  in  the  bottom  passage,  and  his  table  was  in 
requisition  for  the  singing. 

Supper  came  in  due  course  at  seven  o'clock,  consisting  of  bread 
and  cheese  and  beer,  which  was  all  saved  for  the  singing;  and 
directly  afterward  the  fags  went  to  work  to  prepare  the  hall. 
The  School-house  hall,  as  has  been  said,  is  a  great,  long,  high  room, 
with  two  large  fires  on  one  side,  and  two  large  iron-bound  tables, 
one  running  down  the  middle,  and  the  other  along  the  wall  op- 
posite the  fireplaces.  Around  the  upper  fire  the  fags  placed  the 
tables  in  the  form  of  a  horseshoe,  and  upon  them  the  jugs  with 
the  Saturday  night's  allowance  of  beer.  Then  the  big  boys  used 
to  drop  in  and  take  their  seats,  bringing  with  them  bottled  beer 
and  song-books;   for  although  they  all  knew  the  songs  by  heart, 

[118] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

it  was  tlie  thing  to  liave  an  old  manuscript  book  descended  from 
some  departed  hero  in  which  they  were  all  carefully  written  out. 

The  sixth-form  boys  had  not  yet  appeared;  so,  to  till  up  the 
gap,  an  interesting  and  time-honored  ceremony  was  gone  through. 
Each  new  boy  was  placed  on  the  table  in  turn  and  made  to  sing 
a  solo,  under  the  penalty  of  drinking  a  large  mug  of  salt  and 
water  if  he  resisted  or  broke  down.  However,  the  new  boys 
all  sing  like  nightingales  to-night,  and  the  salt  water  is  not  in 
requisition;  Tom,  as  his  part,  performing  the  old  west-country 
song  of  The  Leather  Battel  with  considerable  applause.  And  at 
the  half-  hour  down  come  the  sixth  and  fifth  form  boys,  and 
take  their  places  at  the  tables,  which  are  filled  up  by  the  next 
biggest  boys — the  rest,  for  whom  there  is  no  room  at  the  table, 
standing  round  outside. 

The  glasses  and  mugs  are  filled,  and  then  the  fugleman  strikes 
up  the  old  sea-song, 

"A  wet  sheet  and   a   flowing  sea, 
And  a  wind   that  follows   fast,"  etc., 

which  is  the  invariable  first  song  in  the  School-house,  and  all  the 
seventy  voices  join  in,  not  mindful  of  harmony,  but  bent  on 
noise,  which  they  attain  decidedly;  but  the  general  effect  isn't 
bad.  And  then  follow  the  British  Grenadiers,  Billy  Taylor,  The 
Siege  of  Seringapatam,  Three  'Jolly  Postboys,  and  other  vocifer- 
ous songs  in  rapid  succession,  including  The  Chesapeake  and 
Shannon,  a  song  lately  introduced  in  honor  of  old  Brooke;  and 
when  they  come  to  the  words, 

"Brave   Broke   he  waved   his  sword,   crying.   Now   my   lads,   aboard, 
And  we'll  stop  their   playing  Yankee-doodle-dandy  O!" 

you  expect  the  roof  to  come  down.  The  sixth  and  fifth  know  that 
"brave  Broke"  of  the  Shannon  was  no  sort  of  relation  to  our  old 
Brooke.     The  fourth  form  are  uncertain  in  their  belief,  but  for 

[■19] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

the  most  part  hold  that  old  Brooke  was  a  midshipman  then  on 
board  his  uncle's  ship.  And  the  lower  school  never  doubt  for  a 
moment  that  it  was  our  old  Brooke  who  led  the  boarders,  in 
what  capacity  they  care  not  a  straw.  During  the  pauses  the 
bottled-beer  corks  fly  rapidly,  and  the  talk  is  fast  and  merry,  and 
the  big  boys,  at  least  all  of  them  who  have  a  fellow-feeling  for 
dry  throats,  hand  their  mugs  over  their  shoulders  to  be  emptied 
by  the  small  ones  who  stand  round  behind. 

Then  Warner,  the  head  of  the  house,  gets  up  and  wants  to  speak, 
but  he  can't,  for  every  boy  knows  what's  coming;  and  the  big 
boys  who  sit  at  the  tables  pound  them  and  cheer;  and  the  small 
boys  who  stand  behind  pound  one  another  and  cheer,  and  rush 
about  the  hall  cheering.  Then  silence  being  made,  Warner  re- 
minds them  of  the  old  School-house  custom  of  drinking  the 
healths,  on  the  first  night  of  singing,  of  those  who  are  going  to 
leave  at  the  end  of  the  half.  "He  sees  that  they  know  what  he 
is  going  to  say  already — [loud  cheers] — and  so  won't  keep  them, 
but  only  ask  them  to  treat  the  toast  as  it  deserves.  It  is  the  head 
of  the  eleven,  the  head  of  big-side  football,  their  leader  on  this 
glorious  day — Pater  Brooke!" 

And  away  goes  the  pounding  and  cheering  again,  becoming 
deafening  when  old  Brooke  gets  on  his  legs;  till,  a  table  having 
broken  down,  and  a  gallon  or  so  of  beer  been  upset,  and  all 
throats  getting  dry,  silence  ensues,  and  the  hero  speaks,  leaning 
his  hands  on  the  table  and  bending  a  little  forward.  No  action, 
no  tricks  of  oratory;    plain,  strong,  and  straight,  like  his  play. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  School-house!  I  am  very  proud  of  the 
way  in  which  you  have  received  my  name,  and  I  wish  I  could  say 
all  I  should  like  in  return.  But  I  know  I  sha'n't.  However,  I'll 
do  the  best  I  can  to  say  what  seems  to  me  ought  to  be  said  by  a 
fellow  who's  just  going  to  leave,  and  who  has  spent  a  good  slice 
of  his  life  here.  Eight  years  it  is,  and  eight  such  years  as  I  can 
never  hope  to  have  again.  So  now  I  hope  you'll  all  listen  to  me — 
[loud  cheers  of  "that  we  will"] — for  I'm  going  to  talk  seriously. 

[I20] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

You're  bound  to  listen  to  me;  for  what's  the  use  of  calling  nie 
'pater,'  and  all  that,  if  you  don't  mind  what  I  say?  And  I'm 
going  to  talk  seriously,  because  I  feel  so.  It's  a  jolly  time,  too, 
getting  to  the  end  of  the  half,  and  a  goal  kicked  by  us  first  day — 
[tremendous  applause]  —  after  one  of  the  hardest  and  fiercest 
day's  play  I  can  remember  in  eight  years — [frantic  shoutings]. 
The  School  played  splendidly,  too,  I  will  say,  and  kept  it  up  to 
the  last.  That  last  charge  of  theirs  would  have  carried  away  a 
house.  I  never  thought  to  see  anything  again  of  old  Crab  there, 
except  little  pieces,  when  I  saw  him  tumbled  over  by  it— [laughter 
and  shouting,  and  great  slapping  on  the  back  of  Jones  by  the 
boys  nearest  him].  Well,  but  we  beat  them — [cheers].  Ay,  but 
why  did  we  beat  'em  ?  answer  me  that — [shouts  of  "your  play"]. 
Nonsense!  'Twasn't  the  w^nd  and  kick-off  either — that  wouldn't 
do  it.  'Twasn't  because  we've  half  a  dozen  of  the  best  players 
in  the  school,  as  we  have.  I  wouldn't  change  Warner  and  Hedge 
and  Crab  and  the  young  un  for  any  six  on  their  side — [violent 
cheers].  But  half  a  dozen  fellows  can't  keep  it  up  for  two  hours 
against  two  hundred.  Why  is  it,  then  ^  I'll  tell  you  w^hat  I  think. 
It's  because  we've  more  reliance  on  one  another,  more  of  a  house 
feeling,  more  fellowship  than  the  School  can  have.  Each  of  us 
knows  and  can  depend  on  his  next-hand  man  better — that's  why 
we  beat  'em  to-day.  We've  union,  they've  division — there's  the 
secret — [cheers].  But  how's  this  to  be  kept  up  ^  How's  it  to 
be  improved  .?  That's  the  question.  For,  I  take  it,  we're  all  in 
earnest  about  beating  the  School,  whatever  else  we  care  about. 
I  know  I'd  sooner  win  two  School-house  matches  running  than 
get  the  Balliol  scholarship  any  day — [frantic  cheers]. 

"Now,  I'm  as  proud  of  the  house  as  any  one.  I  believe  it's  the 
best  house  in  the  school,  out  and  out — [cheers].  But  it's  a  long 
way  from  what  I  want  to  see  it.  First,  there's  a  deal  of  bullying 
going  on.  I  know  it  well.  I  don't  pry  about  and  interfere;  that 
only  makes  it  more  underhand,  and  encourages  the  small  boys  to 
come  to  us  with  their  fingers  in  their  eyes  telling  tales,  and  so  we 
10  [  121  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

should  be  worse  off  than  ever.  It's  very  httle  kindness  for  the 
sixth  to  meddle  generally — you  youngsters,  mind  that.  You'll  be 
all  the  better  football  players  for  learning  to  stand  it,  and  to  take 
your  own  parts  and  fight  it  through.  But,  depend  on  it,  there's 
nothing  breaks  up  a  house  like  bullying.  Bullies  are  cowards, 
and  one  coward  makes  many;  so  good-bye  to  the  School-house 
match  if  bullying  gets  ahead  here.  [Loud  applause  from  the 
small  boys,  who  look  meaningly  at  Flashman  and  other  boys  at 
the  tables.]  Then  there's  fuddling  about  in  the  public-houses 
and  drinking  bad  spirits,  and  punch,  and  such  rot-gut  stuff.  That 
won't  make  good  drop-kicks  or  chargers  of  you,  take  my  word 
for  it.  You  get  plenty  of  good  beer  here,  and  that's  enough  for 
you;  and  drinking  isn't  fine  or  manly,  whatever  some  of  you  may 
think  of  it. 

*'One  other  thing  I  must  have  a  word  about.  A  lot  of  you 
think  and  say,  for  I've  heard  you,  'There's  this  new  Doctor  hasn't 
been  here  so  long  as  some  of  us  and  he's  changing  all  the  old 
customs.  Rugby,  and  the  School-house  especially,  are  going  to 
the  dogs.  Stand  up  for  the  good  old  ways,  and  down  with  the 
Doctor!'  Now  I'm  as  fond  of  old  Rugby  customs  and  ways  as 
any  of  you,  and  I've  been  here  longer  than  any  of  you,  and  I'll 
give  you  a  word  of  advice  in  time,  for  I  shouldn't  like  to  see  any 
of  you  getting  sacked.  'Down  with  the  Doctor!'  is  easier  said 
than  done.  You'll  find  him  pretty  tight  on  his  perch,  I  take  it, 
and  an  awkwardish  customer  to  handle  in  that  line.  Besides,  now, 
what  customs  has  he  put  down  ?  There  was  the  good  old  custom 
of  taking  the  linch-pins  out  of  the  farmers'  and  bagmen's  gigs  at 
the  fairs,  and  a  cowardly,  blackguard  custom  it  was.  We  all  know 
what  came  of  it;  and  no  wonder  the  Doctor  objected  to  it.  But, 
come  now,  any  of  you,  name  a  custom  that  he  has  put  down." 

"The  hounds,"  calls  out  a  fifth-form  boy,  clad  in  a  green  cut- 
away with  brass  buttons  and  cord  trousers,  the  leader  of  the  sport- 
ing interest,  and  reputed  a  great  rider  and  keen  hand  generally. 

"Well,  we  had  six  or  seven  mangy  harriers  and  beagles  belong- 

[122] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

ing  to  the  house,  I'll  allow,  and  had  had  them  for  years,  and  that 
the  Doctor  put  them  down.  But  what  good  ever  came  of  them  ? 
Only  rows  with  all  the  keepers  for  ten  miles  round;  and  hig-side 
Hare  and  Hounds  is  better  fun  ten  times  over.     What  else  t" 

No  answer. 

"Well,  I  won't  go  on.  Think  it  over  for  yourselves:  you'll  find, 
I  believe,  that  he  don't  meddle  with  any  one  that's  worth  keeping. 
And  mind  now,  I  say  again,  look  out  for  squalls  if  you  will  go 
your  own  way  and  that  way  ain't  the  Doctor's,  for  it  '11  lead  to 
grief.  You  all  know  that  I'm  not  the  fellow  to  back  a  master 
through  thick  and  thin.  If  I  saw  him  stopping  football  or 
cricket  or  bathing  or  sparring,  I'd  be  as  ready  as  any  fellow  to 
stand  up  about  it.  But  he  don't — he  encourages  them;  didn't 
you  see  him  out  to-day  for  half  an  hour  watching  us  ?  [loud  cheers 
for  the  Doctor];  and  he's  a  strong,  true  man,  and  a  wise  one,  too, 
and  a  public-school  man,  too.  [Cheers.]  And  so  let's  stick  to 
him,  and  talk  no  more  rot,  and  drink  his  health  as  the  head  of 
the  house.  [Loud  cheers.]  And  now  I've  done  blowing  up,  and 
very  glad  I  am  to  have  done.  But  it's  a  solemn  thing  to  be  think- 
ing of  leaving  a  place  which  one  has  lived  in  and  loved  for  eight 
years;  and  if  one  can  say  a  word  for  the  good  of  the  old  house  at 
such  a  time,  why,  it  should  be  said,  whether  bitter  or  sweet.  If 
I  hadn't  been  proud  of  the  house  and  you  —  av,  no  one  knows 
how  proud! — I  shouldn't  be  blowing  you  up.  And  now,  let's  get 
to  singing.  But  before  I  sit  down  I  must  give  you  a  toast  to  be 
drunk  with  three-times-three  and  all  the  honors.  It's  a  toast 
which  I  hope  every  one  of  us,  wherever  he  may  go  hereafter,  will 
never  fail  to  drink  when  he  thinks  of  the  brave,  bright  days  of  his 
boyhood.  It's  a  toast  which  should  bind  us  all  together,  and  to 
those  who've  gone  before,  and  who'll  come  after  us  here.  It  is 
the  dear  old  School-house — the  best  house  of  the  best  school  in 
England!" 

My  dear  boys,  old  and  young,  you  who  have  belonged,  or  do 
belong,  to  other  schools  and  other  houses,  don't  begin  throwing 


TOM   BROWN'S 

my  poor  little  book  about  the  room,  and  abusing  me  and  it,  and 
vowing  you'll  read  no  more  when  you  get  to  this  point.  I  allow 
you've  provocation  for  it.  But,  come  now — would  you,  any  of 
you,  give  a  fig  for  a  fellow  who  didn't  believe  in,  and  stand  up  for, 
his  own  house  and  his  own  school  ?  You  know  you  wouldn't. 
Then  don't  object  to  my  cracking  up  the  old  School-house,  Rugby. 
Haven't  I  a  right  to  do  it,  when  I'm  taking  all  the  trouble  of  writ- 
ing this  true  history  for  all  your  benefits  }  If  you  ain't  satisfied, 
go  and  write  the  history  of  your  own  houses  in  your  own  times, 
and  say  all  you  know  for  your  own  schools  and  houses,  provided 
it's  true,  and  I'll  read  it  without  abusing  you. 

The  last  few  words  hit  the  audience  in  their  weakest  place; 
they  had  been  not  altogether  enthusiastic  at  several  parts  of  old 
Brooke's  speech;  but  "the  best  house  of  the  best  school  in  Eng- 
land" was  too  much  for  them  all,  and  carried  even  the  sporting 
and  drinking  interests  off  their  legs  into  rapturous  applause,  and 
(it  is  to  be  hoped)  resolutions  to  lead  a  new  life  and  remember 
old  Brooke's  words;  which,  however,  they  didn't  altogether  do, 
as  will  appear  hereafter. 

But  it  required  all  old  Brooke's  popularity  to  carry  down  parts 
of  his  speech;  especially  that  relating  to  the  Doctor.  For  there 
are  no  such  bigoted  holders  by  established  forms  and  customs,  be 
they  never  so  foolish  or  meaningless,  as  English  school-boys — at 
least,  as  the  school-boy  of  our  generation.  We  magnified  into 
heroes  every  boy  who  had  left,  and  looked  upon  him  with  awe  and 
reverence  when  he  revisited  the  place  a  year  or  so  afterward,  on 
his  way  to  or  from  Oxford  or  Cambridge;  and  happy  was  the  boy 
who  remembered  him,  and  sure  of  an  audience  as  he  expounded 
what  he  used  to  do  and  say,  though  it  were  sad  enough  stuff  to 
make  angels,  not  to  say  head-masters,  weep. 

We  looked  upon  every  trumpery  little  custom  and  habit  which 
had  obtained  in  the  school  as  though  it  had  been  a  law  of  the 
Medes  and  Persians,  and  regarded  the  infringement  or  variation 
of  it  as  a  sort  of  sacrilege.     And  the  Doctor,  than  whom  no  man 

[124] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

or  boy  had  a  stronger  liking  for  old  school  customs  which  were 
good  and  sensible,  had,  as  has  already  been  hinted,  come  into 
most  decided  collision  with  several  which  were  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.  And,  as  old  Brooke  had  said,  when  he  came  into  col- 
lision with  boys  or  customs  there  was  nothing  for  them  but  to 
give  in  or  take  themselves  off;  because  what  he  said  had  to  be 
done,  and  no  mistake  about  it.  And  this  was  beginning  to  be 
pretty  clearly  understood;  the  boys  felt  that  there  was  a  strong 
man  over  them,  who  would  have  things  his  own  way;  and  hadn't 
yet  learned  that  he  was  a  wise  and  loving  man  also.  His  personal 
character  and  influence  had  not  had  time  to  make  itself  felt, 
except  by  a  very  few  of  the  bigger  boys,  with  whom  he  came  more 
directly  in  contact;  and  he  was  looked  upon  with  great  fear  and 
dislike  by  the  great  majority  even  of  his  own  house.  For  he  had 
found  school  and  School-house  in  a  state  of  monstrous  license  and 
misrule,  and  was  still  employed  in  the  necessary  but  unpopular 
work  of  setting  up  order  with  a  strong  hand. 

However,  as  has  been  said,  old  Brooke  triumphed,  and  the  boys 
cheered  him  and  then  the  Doctor.  And  then  more  songs  came, 
and  the  healths  of  the  other  boys  about  to  leave,  who  each  made 
a  speech,  one  flowery,  another  maudlin,  a  third  prosy,  and  so  on, 
which  are  not  necessary  to  be  here  recorded. 

Half-past  nine  struck  in  the  middle  of  the  performance  of 
Auld  Lang  SynCy  a  most  obstreperous  proceeding;  during  which 
there  was  an  immense  amount  of  standing  with  one  foot  on 
the  table,  knocking  mugs  together,  and  shaking  hands,  without 
which  accompaniments  it  seems  impossible  for  the  youth  of 
Britain  to  take  part  in  that  famous  old  song.  The  under-porter 
of  the  School-house  entered  during  the  performance,  bearing  five 
or  six  long  wooden  candlesticks,  with  lighted  dips  in  them,  which 
he  proceeded  to  stick  into  their  holes  in  such  part  of  the  great 
tables  as  he  could  get  at;  and  then  stood  outside  the  ring  till  the 
end  of  the  song,  when  he  was  hailed  with  shouts. 

"Bill,  you  old  mufi^,  the  half-hour  hasn*t  struck.*'     "Here,  Bill, 

[125] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

drink  some  cocktail."  "Sing  us  a  song,  old  boy."  "Don't  you 
wish  you  may  get  the  table  ?"  Bill  drank  the  proffered  cocktail 
not  unwillingly,  and,  putting  down  the  empty  glass,  remonstrated, 
"Now,  gentlemen,  there's  only  ten  minutes  to  prayers,  and  we 
must  get  the  hall  straight." 

Shouts  of  "No,  no!"  and  a  violent  effort  to  strike  up  Billy 
Taylor  for  the  third  time.  Bill  looked  appealingly  to  old 
Brooke,  who  got  up  and  stopped  the  noise.  "Now,  then,  lend 
a  hand,  you  youngsters,  and  get  the  tables  back;  clear  away  the 
jugs  and  glasses.  Bill's  right.  Open  the  windows,  Warner." 
The  boy  addressed,  who  sat  by  the  long  ropes,  proceeded  to  pull 
up  the  great  windows  and  let  in  a  clear,  fresh  rush  of  night  air, 
which  made  the  candles  flicker  and  gutter  and  the  fires  roar. 
The  circle  broke  up,  each  collaring  his  own  jug,  glass,  and  song- 
book;  Bill  pounced  on  the  big  table,  and  began  to  rattle  it  away 
to  its  place  outside  the  buttery-door.  The  lower-passage  boys 
carried  off  their  small  tables,  aided  by  their  friends,  while  above 
all,  standing  on  the  great  hall-table,  a  knot  of  untiring  sons  of 
harmony  made  night  doleful  by  a  prolonged  performance  o^  God 
Save  the  King.  His  Majesty  King  William  IV  then  reigned 
over  us,  a  monarch  deservedly  popular  among  the  boys  addicted 
to  melody,  to  whom  he  was  chiefly  known  from  the  beginning  of 
that  excellent,  if  slightly  vulgar,  song  in  which  they  much  de- 
lighted— 

"Come,   neighbors  all,   both  great  and   small, 

Perform  your  duties   here, 
And  loudly  sing  'Live    Billy  our   king,' 

For   bating  the  tax  upon  beer." 

Others  of  the  more  learned  in  songs  also  celebrated  his  praises  in 
a  sort  of  ballad  which  I  take  to  have  been  written  by  some  Irish 
loyalist.     I  have  forgotten  all  but  the  chorus,  which  ran, 

"God  save  our  good  King  William,  he  his  name  forever  blessed; 
He's  the  father  of  all  his  people,  and  the  guardian  of  all  the  rest." 

[  126  ] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

In  troth,  we  were  loyal  subjects  in  those  days,  in  a  rough  way.  I 
trust  that  our  successors  make  as  much  of  her  present  Majesty, 
and,  having  regard  to  the  greater  refinement  of  the  times,  have 
adopted  or  written  other  songs  equally  hearty,  but  more  civilized, 
in  her  honor. 

Then  the  quarter  to  ten  struck  and  the  prayer-bell  rang.  The 
sixth  and  fifth  form  boys  ranged  themselves  in  their  school  order 
along  the  wall,  on  either  side  of  the  great  fires,  the  middle  fifth  and 
upper-school  boys  round  the  long  table  in  the  middle  of  the  hall, 
and  the  lower-school  boys  round  the  upper  part  of  the  second  long 
table,  which  ran  down  the  side  of  the  hall  farthest  from  the  fires. 
Here  Tom  found  himself  at  the  bottom  of  all,  in  a  state  of  mind 
and  body  not  at  all  fit  for  prayers,  as  he  thought;  and  so  tried  hard 
to  make  himself  serious,  but  couldn't,  for  the  life  of  him,  do  any- 
thing but  repeat  in  his  head  the  choruses  of  some  of  the  songs,  and 
stare  at  all  the  boys  opposite,  wondering  at  the  brilliancy  of  their 
waistcoats,  and  speculating  what  sort  of  fellows  they  were.  The 
steps  of  the  head-porter  are  heard  on  the  stairs  and  a  light  gleams 
at  the  door.  "Hush!"  from  the  fifth-form  boys  who  stand  there, 
and  then  in  strides  the  Doctor,  cap  on  head,  book  in  one  hand, 
and  gathering  up  his  gown  in  the  other.  He  walks  up  the  middle, 
and  takes  his  post  by  Warner,  who  begins  calling  over  the  names. 
The  Doctor  takes  no  notice  of  anything,  but  quietly  turns  over 
his  book  and  finds  the  place,  and  then  stands,  cap  in  hand  and 
finger  in  book,  looking  straight  before  his  nose.  He  knows  better 
than  any  one  when  to  look,  and  when  to  see  nothing;  to-night  is 
singing  night,  and  there's  been  lots  of  noise  and  no  harm  done; 
nothing  but  beer  drank,  and  nobody  the  worse  for  it;  though 
some  of  them  do  look  hot  and  excited.  So  the  Doctor  sees  nothing, 
but  fascinates  Tom  in  a  horrible  manner  as  he  stands  there  and 
reads  out  the  Psalm  in  that  deep,  ringing,  searching  voice  of  his. 
Prayers  are  over,  and  Tom  still  stares  open-mouthed  after  the 
Doctor's  retiring  figure,  when  he  feels  a  pull  at  his  sleeve,  and, 
turning  round,  sees  East. 

[127] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"  I  say,  were  you  ever  tossed  in  a  blanket  ?" 

"No,"  said  Tom;    "why?" 

"  'Cause  there'll  be  tossing  to-night,  most  Hkely,  before  the 
sixth  come  up  to  bed.  So  if  you  funk,  you  just  come  along  and 
hide,  or  else  they'll  catch  you  and  toss  you." 

"Were  you  ever  tossed  ?     Does  it  hurt  ?"  inquired  Tom. 

"Oh  yes,  bless  you,  a  dozen  times,"  said  East,  as  he  hobbled 
along  by  Tom's  side  up-stairs.  "It  don't  hurt  unless  you  fall  on 
the  floor.     But  most  fellows  don't  like  it." 

They  stopped  at  the  fireplace  in  the  top  passage,  where  were  a 
crowd  of  small  boys  whispering  together  and  evidently  unwilling 
to  go  up  into  the  bedrooms.  In  a  minute,  however,  a  study  door 
opened  and  a  sixth-form  boy  came  out,  and  off  they  all  scuttled 
up  the  stairs,  and  then  noiselessly  dispersed  to  their  different 
rooms.  Tom's  heart  beat  rather  quick  as  he  and  East  reached 
their  room,  but  he  had  made  up  his  mind,  "I  sha'n't  hide,  East," 
said  he. 

"Very  well,  old  fellow,"  replied  East,  evidently  pleased;  "no 
more  shall  I — they'll  be  here  for  us  directly." 

The  room  was  a  great  big  one,  with  a  dozen  beds  in  it,  but  not 
a  boy  that  Tom  could  see  except  East  and  himself.  East  pulled 
off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  then  sat  on  the  bottom  of  his 
bed,  whistling  and  pulling  off  his  boots;  Tom  followed  his  ex- 
ample. 

A  noise  and  steps  are  heard  in  the  passage,  the  door  opens,  and 
in  rush  four  or  five  great  fifth-form  boys,  headed  by  Flashman  in 
his  glory. 

Tom  and  East  slept  in  the  farther  corner  of  the  room,  and  were 
not  seen  at  first. 

"Gone  to  ground,  eh?"  roared  Flashman;  "push  'em  out, 
then,  boys! — look  under  the  beds";  and  he  pulled  up  the  little 
white  curtain  of  the  one  nearest  him.  "Who-o-op!"  he  roared, 
pulling  away  at  the  leg  of  a  small  boy,  who  held  on  tight  to  the 
leg  of  the  bed  and  sang  out  lustily  for  mercy. 

[128] 


H 

O 


H 
O 
O 
?1 


CO 

H 

in: 

M 
M 

H 

O 

M 

GO 


H 
O 

a 


I— H 

o 
o 


n 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"Mere,  lend  a  hand,  one  of  you,  and  help  me  pull  out  this 
young,  howling  brute.  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,  or  I'll  kill 
you! 

"Oh,  please,  Flashman — please,  Walker — don't  toss  me!  I'll 
fag  for  you;   I'll  do  anything,  only  don't  toss  me!" 

"You  be  hanged!"  said  Flashman,  lugging  the  wretched  boy 

along;  "  'twon't  hurt  you,  you!      Come  along,  boys,  here 

hr  --  " 


le  is. 


I  say,  Flashy,"  sang  out  another  of  the  big  boys,  "drop  that; 
you  heard  what  old  Pater  Brooke  said  to-night.  I'll  be  hanged 
if  we'll  toss  any  one  against  his  will.  No  more  bullying.  Let 
him  go,  I  say!" 

Flashman,  with  an  oath  and  a  kick,  released  his  prey,  who 
rushed  headlong  under  his  bed  again,  for  fear  they  should  change 
their  minds,  and  crept  along  underneath  the  other  beds  till  he 
got  under  that  of  the  sixth-form  boy,  which  he  knew  they  daren't 
disturb. 

"There's  plenty  of  youngsters  don't  care  about  it,"  said  Walker. 
"Here,  here's  Scud  East — you'll  be  tossed,  won't  you,  young  un  .?" 
Scud  was  East's  nickname,  or  Black,  as  we  called  it,  gained  by 
his  fleetness  of  foot. 

"Yes,"  said  East,  "if  you  like,  only  mind  my  foot." 

"And  here's  another  who  didn't  hide.     Hullo!  new  boy;  what's 
your  name,  sir  ?" 
Brown. 

"Well,  Whitey  Brown,  you  don't  mind  being  tossed  V* 

"No,"  said  Tom,  setting  his  teeth. 

"Come  along,  then,  boys,"  sang  out  Walker;  and  away  they 
all  went,  carrying  along  Tom  and  East,  to  the  intense  relief  of 
four  or  five  other  small  boys  who  crept  out  from  under  the  beds 
and  behind  them. 

"What  a  trump  Scud  is!"  said  one.  "They  won't  come  back 
here  now." 

"And  that  new  boy,  too;  he  must  be  a  good  plucked  one." 

[■31] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Ah!  wait  till  he  has  been  tossed  onto  the  floor;  see  how  he'll 
like  it  then!" 

Meantime  the  procession  went  down  the  passage  to  Number  7, 
the  largest  room  and  the  scene  of  tossing,  in  the  middle  of  which 
was  a  great  open  space.  Here  they  joined  other  parties  of  the 
bigger  boys,  each  with  a  captive  or  two,  some  willing  to  be  tossed, 
some  sullen,  and  some  frightened  to  death.  At  Walker's  sug- 
gestion, all  who  were  afraid  were  let  ofi^,  in  honor  of  Pater  Brooke's 
speech. 

Then  a  dozen  big  boys  seized  hold  of  a  blanket  dragged  from 
one  of  the  beds.  "In  with  Scud,  quick! — there's  no  time  to  lose." 
East  was  chucked  into  the  blanket.  "Once,  twice,  thrice,  and 
away!" — up  he  went  like  a  shuttlecock,  but  not  quite  up  to  the 
ceiling. 

"Now,  boys,  with  a  will!"  cried  Walker — "once,  twice,  thrice, 
and  away!"  This  time  he  went  clean  up,  and  kept  himself  from 
touching  the  ceiling  with  his  hand;  and  so  again  a  third  time, 
when  he  was  turned  out,  and  up  went  another  boy.  And  then 
came  Tom's  turn.  He  lay  quite  still,  by  East's  advice,  and  didn't 
dislike  the  "once,  twice,  thrice";  but  the  "away"  wasn't  so 
pleasant.  They  were  in  good  wind  now,  and  sent  him  slap  up 
to  the  ceiling  first  time,  against  which  his  knees  came  rather 
sharply.  But  the  moment's  pause  before  descending  was  the  rub, 
the  feeling  of  utter  helplessness,  and  of  leaving  his  whole  inside 
behind  him  sticking  to  the  ceiling.  Tom  was  very  near  shouting 
to  be  set  down,  when  he  found  himself  back  in  the  blanket,  but 
thought  of  East,  and  didn't;  and  so  took  his  three  tosses  without 
a  kick  or  a  cry,  and  was  called  a  young  trump  for  his  pains. 

He  and  East,  having  earned  it,  stood  now  looking  on.  No 
catastrophe  happened,  as  all  the  captives  were  cool  hands,  and 
didn't  struggle.  This  didn't  suit  Flashman.  What  your  real 
bully  likes  in  tossing  is  when  the  boys  kick  and  struggle,  or  hold 
on  to  one  side  of  the  blanket  and  so  get  pitched  bodily  onto  the 
floor;  it's  no  fun  to  him  when  no  one  is  hurt  or  frightened. 

[  132  ] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"Let's  toss  two  of  them  together,  Walker,"  suggested  he. 

"What  a  cursed  bully  you  are.  Flashy!"  rejoined  the  other. 
"Up  with  another  one." 

And  so  no  two  boys  were  tossed  together,  the  peculiar  hardship 
of  which  is  that  it's  too  much  for  human  nature  to  lie  still  then 
and  share  troubles;  and  so  the  wretched  pair  of  small  boys  struggle 
in  the  air  which  shall  fall  a-top  in  the  descent,  to  the  no  small  risk 
of  both  falling  out  of  the  blanket  and  the  huge  delight  of  brutes 
like  Flashman. 

But  now  there's  a  cry  that  the  prnepostor  of  the  room  is  coming; 
so  the  tossing  stops  and  all  scatter  to  their  different  rooms;  and 
Tom  is  left  to  turn  in,  with  the  first  day's  experience  of  a  public 
school  to  meditate  upon. 


TOM    BROWN'S 


CHAPTER  VII 


SETTLING   TO   THE    COLLAR 

'Says  Giles,  "Tis  mortal  hard  to  go; 

But  if  so  he's  I  must, 
I  means  to  follow  arter  he 
As  goes  hisself  the  fust.'  " — Ballad. 

VERYBODY,  I  suppose,  knows  the  dreamy, 
delicious  state  in  which  one  lies,  half  asleep, 
half  awake,  while  consciousness  begins  to  re- 
turn, after  a  sound  night's  rest  in  a  new  place 
which  we  are  glad  to  be  in,  following  upon  a 
day  of  unwonted  excitement  and  exertion. 
There  are  few  pleasanter  pieces  of  life.  The 
worst  of  it  is  that  they  last  such  a  short  time;  for,  nurse  them  as 
you  will,  by  lying  perfectly  passive  in  mind  and  body,  you  can't 
make  more  than  five  minutes  or  so  of  them.  After  which  time 
the  stupid,  obtrusive,  wakeful  entity  which  we  call  "I,"  as 
impatient  as  he  is  stiff- necked,  spite  of  our  teeth  will  force 

[134] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

himself  back  again  and  take  possession  of  us  down  to  our 
very  toes. 

It  was  in  this  state  that  Master  Tom  lay  at  half-past  seven  on 
the  morning  following  the  day  of  his  arrival,  and  from  his  clean, 
little,  white  bed  watched  the  movements  of  Bogle  (the  generic 
name  by  which  the  successive  shoeblacks  of  the  School-house 
were  known)  as  he  marched  round  from  bed  to  bed,  collecting 
the  dirty  shoes  and  boots,  and  depositing  clean  ones  in  their 
places. 

There  he  lay,  half  doubtful  as  to  where  exactly  in  the  universe 
he  was,  but  conscious  that  he  had  made  a  step  in  life  which  he  had 
been  anxious  to  make.  It  was  only  just  light  as  he  looked  la/ily 
out  of  the  wide  windows,  and  saw  the  tops  of  the  great  elms,  and 
the  rooks  circling  about  and  cawing  remonstrances  to  the  lazy 
ones  of  their  commonwealth  before  starting  in  a  body  for  the 
neighboring  ploughed  fields.  The  noise  of  the  room-door  closing 
behind  Bogle,  as  he  made  his  exit  with  the  shoe-basket  under  his 
arm,  roused  Tom  thoroughly,  and  he  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked 
round  the  room.  What  in  the  world  could  be  the  matter  with  his 
shoulders  and  loins  ^  He  felt  as  if  he  had  been  severely  beaten 
all  down  his  back,  the  natural  result  of  his  performance  at  his 
first  match.  He  drew  up  his  knees  and  rested  his  chin  on  them, 
and  went  over  all  the  events  of  yesterday,  rejoicing  in  his  new  life, 
what  he  had  seen  of  It,  and  all  that  was  to  come. 

Presently  one  or  two  of  the  other  boys  roused  themselves  and 
began  to  sit  up  and  talk  to  one  another  In  low  tones.  Then  East, 
after  a  roll  or  two,  came  to  an  anchor  also,  and,  nodding  to  Tom, 
began  examining  his  ankle. 

"What  a  pull,"  said  he,  "that  it's  He  in  bed,  for  I  shall  be  as 
lame  as  a  tree,  I  think." 

It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  Sunday  lectures  had  not  yet  been 
established;  so  that  nothing  but  breakfast  Intervened  between 
bed  and  eleven-o'clock  chapel — a  gap  by  no  means  easy  to  fill  up; 
in  fact,  though  received  with  the  correct  amount  of  grumbling, 

[>35] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

the  first  lecture  instituted  by  the  Doctor  shortly  afterward  was  a 
great  boon  to  the  School.  It  was  lie  in  bed,  and  no  one  was  in  a 
hurry  to  get  up,  especially  in  rooms  where  the  sixth-form  boy  was 
a  good-tempered  fellow,  as  was  the  case  in  Tom's  room,  and  al- 
lowed the  small  boys  to  talk  and  laugh,  and  do  pretty  much  what 
they  pleased,  so  long  as  they  didn't  disturb  him.  His  bed  was  a 
bigger  one  than  the  rest,  standing  in  the  corner  by  the  fireplace, 
with  a  washing-stand  and  large  basin  by  the  side,  where  he  lay  in 
state,  with  his  white  curtains  tucked  in  so  as  to  form  a  retiring- 
place — an  awful  subject  of  contemplation  to  Tom,  who  slept  nearly 
opposite,  and  watched  the  great  man  rouse  himself  and  take  a 
book  from  under  his  pillow  and  begin  reading,  leaning  his  head 
on  his  hand  and  turning  his  back  to  the  room.  Soon,  however, 
a  noise  of  striving  urchins  arose,  and  muttered  encouragements 
from  the  neighboring  boys  of  "Go  it.  Tadpole!"  "Now,  young 
Green!"  "Haul  away  his  blanket!"  "Slipper  him  on  the 
hands!"  Young  Green  and  little  Hall,  commonly  called  Tadpole, 
from  his  great  black  head  and  thin  legs,  slept  side  by  side  far  away 
by  the  door,  and  were  forever  playing  each  other  tricks,  which 
usually  ended,  as  on  this  morning,  in  open  and  violent  collision; 
and  now,  unmindful  of  all  order  and  authority,  there  they  were, 
each  hauling  away  at  the  other's  bedclothes  with  one  hand,  and 
with  the  other,  armed  with  a  slipper,  belaboring  whatever  portion 
of  the  body  of  his  adversary  came  within  reach. 

"Hold  that  noise,  up  in  the  corner!"  called  out  the  praepostor, 
sitting  up  and  looking  round  his  curtains;  and  the  Tadpole  and 
young  Green  sank  down  into  their  disordered  beds,  and  then, 
looking  at  his  watch,  the  praepostor  added,  "Hullo,  past  eight! — 
hot  water  ?" 

(Where  the  praepostor  was  particular  in  his  ablutions,  the  fags 
in  his  room  had  to  descend  in  turn  to  the  kitchen  and  beg  or 
steal  hot  water  for  him;  and  often  the  custom  extended  further, 
and  two  boys  went  down  every  morning  to  get  a  supply  for  the 
whole  room.) 

[136] 


o 


m 

w 

O 
:^ 

H 
O 

o 
;^ 
o 
a 
H 

O 

?=o 
H 
w 

O 
H 


> 

H 
m 

n 

o 
:^ 
<: 

o 

CO 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"East's  and  ladpole's,"  answered  the  senior  fag,  who  kept  the 
rota. 

"I  can't  go,"  said  East;    "I'm  dead  lame." 

"Well,  be  quick,  some  of  you,  that's  all,"  said  the  great  man, 
as  he  turned  out  of  bed,  and,  putting  on  his  slippers,  went  out  into 
the  great  passage  which  runs  the  whole  length  of  the  bedrooms 
to  get  his  Sunday  habiliments  out  of  his  portmanteau. 

"Let  me  go  for  you,"  said  Tom  to  East;   "I  should  like  it." 

"Well,  thank  'ee,  that's  a  good  fellow.  Just  pull  on  your 
trousers  and  take  your  jug  and  mine.  Tadpole  will  show  you 
the  way." 

And  so  Tom  and  the  Tadpole,  in  night-shirts  and  trousers, 
started  off  down-stairs,  and  through  "Thos's  Hole,"  as  the  little 
buttery  where  candles  and  beer  and  bread  and  cheese  were  served 
out  at  night  was  called;  across  the  School-house  court,  dow^n  a 
long  passage,  and  into  the  kitchen;  where,  after  some  parley  with 
the  stalwart,  handsome  cook,  who  declared  that  she  had  filled  a 
dozen  jugs  already,  they  got  their  hot  water,  and  returned  with 
all  speed  and  great  caution.  As  it  was,  they  narrowly  escaped 
capture  by  some  privateers  from  the  fifth-form  rooms,  who  were 
on  the  lookout  for  the  hot-water  convoys,  and  pursued  them  up 
to  the  very  door  of  their  room,  making  them  spill  half  their  load 
in  the  passage.  "Better  than  going  down  again,  though,"  Tad- 
pole remarked,  "as  we  should  have  had  to  do  if  those  beggars 
had  caught  us." 

By  the  time  that  the  calling-over  bell  rang,  Tom  and  his  new 
comrades  were  all  down,  dressed  in  their  best  clothes,  and  he  had 
the  satisfaction  of  answering  "here"  to  his  name  for  the  first 
time,  the  praepostor  of  the  week  having  put  it  in  at  the  bottom  of 
his  list.  And  then  came  breakfast,  and  a  saunter  about  the  close 
and  town  wnth  East,  whose  lameness  only  became  severe  when 
any  fagging  had  to  be  done.  And  so  they  w^hiled  away  the  time 
until  morning  chapel. 

It  was  a  fine  November  morning,  and  the  close  soon  became 

[■39] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

alive  with  boys  of  all  ages,  who  sauntered  about  on  the  grass  or 
walked  round  the  gravel  walk  in  parties  of  two  or  three.  East, 
still  doing  the  cicerone,  pointed  out  all  the  remarkable  characters 
to  Tom  as  they  passed:  Osbert,  who  could  throw  a  cricket-ball 
from  the  little-side  ground  over  the  rook-trees  to  the  Doctor's  wall; 
Gray,  who  had  got  the  Balliol  scholarship,  and,  what  East  evi- 
dently thought  of  much  more  importance,  a  half-holiday  for  the 
school  by  his  success;  Thorne,  who  had  run  ten  miles  in  two 
minutes  over  the  hour;  Black,  who  had  held  his  own  against  the 
cock  of  the  town  in  the  last  row  with  the  louts;  and  many  more 
heroes,  who  then  and  there  walked  about  and  were  worshipped, 
all  trace  of  whom  has  long-  since  vanished  from  the  scene  of  their 
fame.  And  the  fourth-form  boy  who  reads  their  names  rudely 
cut  out  on  the  old  hall-tables  or  painted  upon  the  big  side-cup- 
board (if  hall-tables  and  big  side-cupboards  still  exist)  wonders 
what  manner  of  boys  they  were.  It  will  be  the  same  with  you 
who  wonder,  my  sons,  whatever  your  prowess  may  be,  in  cricket 
or  scholarship  or  football.  Two  or  three  years,  more  or  less, 
and  then  the  steadily  advancing,  blessed  wave  will  pass  over  your 
names  as  it  has  passed  over  ours.  Nevertheless,  play  your  games 
and  do  your  work  manfully — see  only  that  that  be  done,  and  let 
the  remembrance  of  it  take  care  of  itself. 

The  chapel-bell  began  to  ring  at  a  quarter  to  eleven,  and  Tom 
got  in  early  and  took  his  place  in  the  lowest  row  and  watched  all 
the  other  boys  come  in  and  take  their  places,  filling  row  after  row, 
and  tried  to  construe  the  Greek  text  which  was  inscribed  over  the 
door  with  the  slightest  possible  success,  and  wondered  which  of 
the  masters  who  walked  down  the  chapel  and  took  their  seats  in 
the  exalted  boxes  at  the  end  would  be  his  lord.  And  then  came 
the  closing  of  the  doors,  and  the  Doctor  in  his  robes  and  the  ser- 
vice, which,  however,  didn't  impress  him  much,  for  his  feeling  of 
wonder  and  curiosity  was  too  strong.  And  the  boy  on  one  side  of 
him  was  scratching  his  name  on  the  oak  panelling  in  front,  and 
he  couldn't  help  watching  to  see  what  the  name  was,  and  whether 

[140] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

it  was  well  scratched;  and  the  boy  on  the  other  side  went  to  sleep 
and  kept  falling  against  him;  and,  on  the  whole,  though  many 
boys  even  in  that  part  of  the  school  were  serious  and  attentive, 
the  general  atmosphere  was  by  no  means  devotional;  and  when 
he  fot  out  into  the  close  again  he  didn't  feel  at  all  comfortable, 
or  as  if  he  had  been  to  church. 

But  at  afternoon  chapel  it  was  quite  another  thing.  He  had 
spent  the  time  after  dinner  in  writing  home  to  his  mother,  and 
so  was  in  a  better  frame  of  mind;  and  his  first  curiosity  was  over, 
and  he  could  attend  more  to  the  service.  As  the  hymn  after  the 
prayers  was  being  sung,  and  the  chapel  was  getting  a  little  dark, 
he  was  beginning  to  feel  that  he  had  been  really  worshipping. 
And  then  came  that  great  event  in  his  life,  as  in  every  Rugby 
boy's  life  of  that  day — the  first  sermon  from  the  Doctor. 

More  worthy  pens  tJian  mine  have  described  that  scene.  The 
oak  pulpit  standing  out  by  itself  above  the  school  seats.  The 
tall,  gallant  form,  the  kindling  eye,  the  voice,  now  soft  as  the  low 
notes  of  a  flute,  now  clear  and  stirring  as  the  call  of  the  light- 
infantry  bugle,  of  him  who  stood  there  Sunday  after  Sunday, 
witnessing  and  pleading  for  his  Lord,  the  King  of  righteousness 
and  love  and  glory,  with  whose  spirit  he  was  filled  and  in  whose 
power  he  spoke.  The  long  lines  of  young  faces,  rising  tier  above 
tier  down  the  whole  length  of  the  chapel,  from  the  little  boy's 
who  had  just  left  his  mother  to  the  young  man's  who  was  going 
out  next  week  into  the  great  world,  rejoicing  in  his  strength.  It 
was  a  great  and  solemn  sight,  and  never  more  so  than  at  this  time 
of  year,  when  the  only  lights  in  the  chapel  were  in  the  pulpit  and 
at  the  seats  of  the  pnepostors  of  the  week,  and  the  soft  twilight 
stole  over  the  rest  of  the  chapel,  deepening  into  darkness  in  the 
high  gallery  behind  the  organ. 

But  what  was  it  after  all  which  seized  and  held  these  three 
hundred  boys,  dragging  them  out  of  themselves,  willing  or  un- 
willing, for  twenty  minutes,  on  Sunday  afternoon  ?  True,  there 
always  were  boys  scattered  up  and  down  the  School,  who  in  heart 

[t4i] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

and  head  were  worthy  to  hear  and  able  to  carry  away  the  deepest 
and  wisest  words  there  spoken.  But  these  were  a  minority 
always,  generally  a  very  small  one,  often  so  small  a  one  as  to  be 
countable  on  the  fingers  of  your  hand.  What  was  it  that  moved 
and  held  us,  the  rest  of  the  three  hundred  reckless,  childish  boys 
who  feared  the  Doctor  with  all  our  hearts,  and  very  little  besides 
in  heaven  or  earth;  who  thought  more  of  our  sets  in  the  School 
than  of  the  Church  of  Christ,  and  put  the  traditions  of  Rugby 
and  the  public  opinion  of  boys  in  our  daily  life  above  the  laws 
of  God  ?  We  couldn't  enter  into  half  that  we  heard;  we  hadn't 
the  knowledge  of  our  own  hearts  or  the  knowledge  of  one  an- 
other; and  little  enough  of  the  faith,  hope,  and  love  needed  to 
that  end.  But  we  listened,  as  all  boys  in  their  better  moods  will 
listen  (ay,  and  men  too,  for  the  matter  of  that),  to  a  man  who 
we  felt  to  be,  with  all  his  heart  and  soul  and  strength,  striving 
against  whatever  was  mean  and  unmanly  and  unrighteous  in  our 
little  world.  It  was  not  the  cold,  clear  voice  of  one  giving  advice 
and  warning  from  serene  heights  to  those  who  were  struggling 
and  sinning  below,  but  the  warm  living  voice  of  one  who  was 
fighting  for  us  and  by  our  sides,  and  calling  on  us  to  help  him 
and  ourselves  and  one  another.  And  so,  wearily  and  little  by 
little,  but  surely  and  steadily  on  the  whole,  was  brought  home  to 
the  young  boy,  for  the  first  time,  the  meaning  of  his  life:  that  it 
was  no  fool's  or  sluggard's  paradise  into  which  he  had  wandered 
by  chance,  but  a  battle-field  ordained  from  of  old,  where  there  are 
no  spectators,  but  the  youngest  must  take  his  side,  and  the  stakes 
are  life  and  death.  And  he  who  roused  his  consciousness  in  them 
showed  them  at  the  same  time,  by  every  word  he  spoke  in  the 
pulpit,  and  by  his  whole  daily  life,  how  that  battle  was  to  be  fought ; 
and  stood  there  before  them  their  fellow-soldier  and  the  captain 
of  their  band.  The  true  sort  of  captain,  too,  for  a  boy's  army, 
one  who  had  no  misgivings  and  gave  no  uncertain  word  of  com- 
mand, and,  let  who  would  yield  or  make  a  truce,  would  fight  the 
fight  out  (so  every  boy  felt)  to  the  last  gasp  and  the  last  drop  of 

[142] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

blood.  Other  sides  of  his  character  might  take  hold  of  and 
influence  boys  here  and  there,  but  it  was  this  thoroughness  and 
undaunted  courage  which  more  than  anything  else  won  his  way 
to  the  hearts  of  the  great  mass  of  those  on  whom  he  left  his 
mark,  and  made  them  believe  first  in  him,  and  then  in  his  Master. 

It  was  this  quality  above  all  others  which  moved  such  boys  as 
our  hero,  who  had  nothing  whatever  remarkable  about  him  ex- 
cept excess  of  boyishness;  by  which  I  mean  animal  life  in  its 
fullest  measure,  good  nature  and  honest  impulses,  hatred  of  in- 
justice and  meanness,  and  thoughtlessness  enough  to  sink  a 
three-decker.  And  so,  during  the  next  two  years,  in  which  it 
was  more  than  doubtful  whether  he  would  get  good  or  evil  from 
the  School,  and  before  any  steady  purpose  or  principle  grew  up 
in  him,  whatever  his  week's  sins  and  shortcomings  might  have 
been,  he  hardly  ever  left  the  chapel  on  Sunday  evenings  without 
a  serious  resolve  to  stand  by  and  follow  the  Doctor,  and  a  feeling 
that  it  was  only  cowardice  (the  incarnation  of  all  other  sins  in 
such  a  boy's  mind)  which  hindered  him  from  doing  so  with  all 
his  heart. 

The  next  day  Tom  was  duly  placed  in  the  third  form,  and  be- 
gan his  lessons  in  a  corner  of  the  big  School.  He  found  the  work 
very  easy,  as  he  had  been  well  grounded,  and  knew  his  grammar 
by  heart;  and,  as  he  had  no  intimate  companion  to  make  him 
idle  (East  and  his  other  School-house  friends  being  in  the  lower 
fourth,  the  form  above  him),  soon  gained  golden  opinions  from 
his  master,  who  said  he  was  placed  too  low,  and  should  be  put 
out  at  the  end  of  the  half-year.  So  all  went  w^ell  with  him  in 
School,  and  he  wrote  the  mos\:  flourishing  letters  home  to  his 
mother,  full  of  his  success  and  the  unspeakable  delights  of  a 
public  school. 

In  the  house,  too,  all  went  well.  The  end  of  the  half-year  was 
drawing  near,  which  kept  everybody  in  a  good  humor,  and  the 
house  was  ruled  well  and  strongly  by  Warner  and  Brooke.  True, 
the  general  system  was  rough  and  hard,  and  there  was  bullying 

['+3] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

in  nooks  and  corners,  bad  signs  for  the  future;  but  it  never 
got  further,  or  dared  show  itself  openly,  stalking  about  the 
passages  and  hall  and  bedrooms,  and  making  the  life  of  the  small 
boys  a  continual  fear. 

Tom,  as  a  new  boy,  was  of  right  excused  fagging  for  the  first 
month,  but  in  his  enthusiasm  for  his  new  life  this  privilege  hardly 
pleased  him;  and  East  and  others  of  his  young  friends  discover- 
ing this,  kindly  allowed  him  to  indulge  his  fancy,  and  take  their 
turns  at  night  fagging  and  cleaning  studies.  These  were  the 
principal  duties  of  the  fags  in  the  house.  From  supper  until 
nine  o'clock,  three  fags  taken  in  order  stood  in  the  passages,  and 
answered  any  praepostor  who  called  Fag,  racing  to  the  door,  the 
last  comer  having  to  do  the  work.  This  consisted  generally  of 
going  to  the  buttery  for  beer  and  bread  and  cheese  (for  the  great 
men  did  not  sup  with  the  rest,  but  had  each  his  own  allow^ance 
in  his  study  or  the  fifth-form  room),  cleaning  candlesticks  and 
putting  in  new  candles,  toasting  cheese,  bottling  beer,  and  carry- 
ing messages  about  the  house;  and  Tom,  in  the  first  blush  of  his 
hero-worship,  felt  it  a  high  privilege  to  receive  orders  from,  and 
be  the  bearer  of,  the  supper  of  old  Brooke.  And  besides  this 
night-work,  each  praepostor  had  three  or  four  fags  specially 
allotted  to  him,  of  whom  he  was  supposed  to  be  the  guide,  philoso- 
pher, and  friend,  and  who  in  return  for  these  good  oflSces  had  to 
clean  out  his  study  every  morning  by  turns,  directly  after  first 
lesson  and  before  he  returned  from  breakfast.  And  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  the  great  men's  studies,  and  looking  at  their  pictures, 
and  peeping  into  their  books,  made  Tom  a  ready  substitute  for 
any  boy  who  was  too  lazy  to  do  his  own  work.  And  so  he  soon 
gained  the  character  of  a  good-natured,  willing  fellow,  who  was 
ready  to  do  a  turn  for  any  one. 

In  all  the  games,  too,  he  joined  with  all  his  heart  and  soon 
became  well  versed  in  all  the  mysteries  of  football,  by  continued 
practice  at  the  School-house  little-side,  which  played  daily. 

The  only  incident  worth  recording  here,  however,  was  his  first 

[  144] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

run  at  Hare-and-hounds.  On  the  last  Tuesday  but  one  of  the 
half-year,  he  was  passing  through  the  liall  after  dinner,  when  he 
was  hailed  with  shouts  from  Tadpole  and  several  other  fags  seated 
at  one  of  the  long  tables,  the  chorus  of  which  was  "Come  and  help 
us  tear  up  scent." 

Tom  approached  the  table  in  obedience  to  the  mysterious  sum- 
mons, always  ready  to  help,  and  found  the  party  engaged  in 
tearing  up  old  newspapers,  copybooks,  and  magazines,  into  small 
pieces,  with  which  they  were  filling  four  large  canvas  bags. 

"It's  the  turn  of  our  house  to  find  scent  for  big-side  Hare-and- 
hounds,"  exclaimed  Tadpole;  "tear  away,  there's  no  time  to  lose 
before  calling-over." 

"I  think  it's  a  great  shame,"  said  another  small  boy,  "to  have 
such  a  hard  run  for  the  last  day." 

"Which  run  is  it .?"  said  Tadpole. 

"Oh,  the  Barby  run,  I  hear,"  answered  the  other;  "nine  miles 
at  least,  and  hard  ground;  no  chance  of  getting  in  at  the  finish, 
unless  you're  a  first-rate  scud." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  have  a  try,"  said  Tadpole;  "it's  the  last 
run  of  the  half,  and  if  a  fellow  gets  in  at  the  end,  big-side  stands 
ale  and  bread  and  cheese,  and  a  bowl  of  punch;  and  the  Cock's 
such  a  famous  place  for  ale." 

"I  should  like  to  try,  too,"  said  Tom. 

"Well,  then,  leave  your  waistcoat  behind,  and  listen  at  the  door, 
after  calling-over,  and  you'll  hear  where  the  meet  is." 

After  calling-over,  sure  enough,  there  were  two  boys  at  the 
door,  calling  out,  "  Big-side  Hare-and-hounds  meet  at  White 
Hall";  and  Tom,  having  girded  himself  with  leather  strap,  and 
left  all  superfluous  clothing  behind,  set  off  for  White  Hall,  an  old 
gable-ended  house  some  quarter  of  a  mile  from  town,  with  East, 
whom  he  had  persuaded  to  join,  notwithstanding  his  prophecy 
that  they  could  never  get  in,  as  it  was  the  hardest  run  of  the 
year. 

At  the  meet  they  found  some  forty  or  fifty  boys,  and  Tom  felt 

I  >45  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

sure,  from  having  seen  many  of  them  run  at  football,  that  he  and 
East  were  more  likely  to  get  in  than  they. 

After  a  few  minutes'  waiting,  two  well-known  runners,  chosen 
for  the  hares,  buckled  on  the  four  bags  filled  with  scent,  compared 
their  watches  with  those  of  young  Brooke  and  Thorne,  and  started 
off  at  a  long,  slinging  trot  across  the  fields  in  the  direction  of 
Barby. 

Then  the  hounds  clustered  round  Thorne,  who  explained 
shortly,  "They're  to  have  six  minutes'  law.  We  run  into  the 
Cock,  and  every  one  who  comes  in  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of 
the  hares  '11  be  counted,  if  he  has  been  round  Barby  church." 
Then  came  a  minute's  pause  or  so,  and  then  the  watches  are 
pocketed,  and  the  pack  is  led  through  the  gateway  into  the  field 
which  the  hares  had  first  crossed.  Here  they  break  into  a  trot, 
scattering  over  the  field  to  find  the  first  traces  of  the  scent  which 
the  hares  throw  out  as  they  go  along.  The  old  hounds  make 
straight  for  the  likely  points,  and  in  a  minute  a  cry  of  "forward" 
comes  from_  one  of  them,  and  the  whole  pack,  quickening  their 
pace,  make  for  the  spot,  while  the  boy  who  hit  the  scent  first  and 
the  two  or  three  nearest  to  him  are  over  the  first  fence,  and  making 
play  along  the  hedgerow  in  the  long  grass-field  beyond.  The 
rest  of  the  pack  rush  at  the  gap  already  made,  and  scramble 
through,  jostling  one  another.  "Forward"  again,  before  they 
are  half  through;  the  pace  quickens  into  a  sharp  run,  the  tail 
hounds  all  straining  to  get  up  with  the  lucky  leaders.  They  are 
gallant  hares,  and  the  scent  lies  thick  right  across  another  meadow 
and  into  a  ploughed  field,  where  the  pace  begins  to  tell;  and  then 
over  a  good  wattle  with  a  ditch  on  the  other  side,  and  down  a 
large  pasture  studded  with  old  thorns,  which  slopes  down  to  the 
first  brook;  the  great  Leicestershire  sheep  charge  away  across 
the  field  as  the  pack  comes  racing  down  the  slope.  The  brook  is 
a  small  one,  and  the  scent  lies  right  ahead  up  the  opposite  slope, 
and  as  thick  as  ever;  not  a  turn  or  a  check  to  favor  the  tail  hounds, 
who  strain  on,  now  trailing  in  a  long  line,  many  a  youngster  be- 

[146] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

ginning  to  drag  his  legs  heavily,  and  feel  his  heart  beat  like  a 
hammer,  and  the  bad  plucked  ones  thinking  that,  after  all,  it  isn't 
worth  while  to  keep  it  up. 

Tom,  East,  and  the  Tadpole  had  a  good  start,  and  are  well  up 
for  such  young  hands,  and,  after  rising  the  slope  and  crossing  the 
next  field,  find  themselves  up  with  the  leading  hounds,  who  have 
over-run  the  scent  and  are  trying  back;  they  have  come  a  mile 
and  a  half  in  about  eleven  minutes,  a  pace  which  shows  that  it  is 
the  last  day.  About  twenty-five  of  the  original  starters  only  show 
here,  the  rest  having  already  given  in;  the  leaders  are  busy  mak- 
ing casts  into  the  fields  on  the  left  and  right,  and  the  others  get 
their  second  winds. 

Then  comes  the  cry  of  "forward"  again,  from  young  Brooke, 
from  the  extreme  left,  and  the  pack  settles  down  to  work  again 
steadily  and  doggedly,  the  whole  keeping  pretty  well  together. 
The  scent,  though  still  good,  is  not  so  thick;  there  is  no  need  of 
that,  for  in  this  part  of  the  run  every  one  knows  the  line  which 
must  be  taken,  and  so  there  are  no  casts  to  be  made,  but  good, 
downright  running  and  fencing  to  be  done.  All  who  are  now  up 
mean  coming  in,  and  they  come  to  the  foot  of  Barby  Hill  without 
losing  more  than  two  or  three  more  of  the  pack.  This  last  straight 
two  miles  and  a  half  is  always  a  vantage  ground  for  the  hounds, 
and  the  hares  know  it  well;  they  are  generally  viewed  on  the  side 
of  Barby  Hill,  and  all  eyes  are  on  the  lookout  for  them  to-day. 
But  not  a  sign  of  them  appears,  so  now  will  be  the  hard  work  for 
the  hounds,  and  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  cast  about  for  the 
scent,  for  it  is  now  the  hares'  turn,  and  they  may  baffle  the  pack 
dreadfully  in  the  next  two  miles. 

Ill  fares  it  now  with  our  youngsters  that  they  are  School-house 
boys,  and  so  follow  young  Brooke,  for  he  takes  the  wide  casts 
round  to  the  left,  conscious  of  his  own  powers,  and  loving  the 
hard  work.  For  if  you  would  consider  for  a  moment,  you  small 
boys,  you  would  remember  that  the  Cock,  where  the  run  ends, 
and  the  good  ale  will  be  going,  lies  far  out  to  the  right  on  the  Dun- 

[■47] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

church  road,  so  that  every  cast  you  take  to  the  left  is  so  much 
extra  work.  And  at  this  stage  of  the  run,  when  the  evening  is 
closing  in  already,  no  one  remarks  whether  you  run  a  little  cun- 
ning or  not,  so  you  should  stick  to  those  crafty  hounds  who  keep 
edging  away  to  the  right,  and  not  follow  a  prodigal  like  young 
Brooke,  whose  legs  are  twice  as  long  as  yours  and  of  cast-iron, 
wholly  indifferent  to  two  or  three  miles  more  or  less.  However, 
they  struggle  after  him,  sobbing  and  plunging  along,  Tom  and 
East  pretty  close,  and  Tadpole,  whose  big  head  begins  to  pull 
him  down,  some  thirty  yards  behind. 

Now  comes  a  brook,  with  stiff  clay  banks,  from  which  they  can 
hardly  drag  their  legs,  and  they  hear  faint  cries  for  help  from  the 
wretched  Tadpole,  who  has  fairly  stuck  fast.  But  they  have  too 
little  run  left  in  themselves  to  pull  up  for  their  own  brothers. 
Three  fields  more,  and  another  check,  and  then  "forward" 
called  away  to  the  extreme  right. 

The  two  boys'  souls  die  within  them;  they  can  never  do  it. 
Young  Brooke  thinks  so  too,  and  says  kindly:  "You'll  cross  a 
lane  after  next  field,  keep  down  it,  and  you'll  hit  the  Dunchurch 
Road  below  the  Cock,"  and  then  steams  away  for  the  run  in,  in 
which  he's  sure  to  be  first,  as  if  he  were  just  starting.  They 
struggle  on  across  the  next  field,  the  "forwards"  getting  fainter 
and  fainter,  and  then  ceasing.  The  whole  hunt  is  out  of  ear-shot, 
and  all  hope  of  coming  in  is  over. 

"Hang  it  all!"  broke  out  East,  as  soon  as  he  had  got  wind 
enough,  pulling  off  his  hat  and  mopping  at  his  face,  all  spattered 
with  dirt  and  lined  with  sweat,  from  which  went  up  a  thick  steam 
into  the  still  cold  air.  "I  told  you  how  it  would  be.  What  a 
thick  I  was  to  come!  Here  we  are  dead  beat,  and  yet  I  know 
we're  close  to  the  run  in,  if  we  knew  the  country." 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  mopping  away,  and  gulping  down  his  dis- 
appointment, "it  can't  be  helped.  We  did  our  best  anyhow. 
Hadn't  we  better  find  this  lane,  and  go  down  it,  as  young  Brooke 
told  us  ?" 

[148] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"I  suppose  SO — nothing  else  for  it,"  grunted  East.  "If  ever 
I  go  out  last  day  again,"  growl — growl — growl. 

So  they  tried  back  slowly  and  sorrowfully,  and  found  the  lane, 
and  went  limping  down  it,  plashing  in  the  cold,  puddly  ruts,  and 
beginning  to  feel  how  the  run  had  taken  it  out  of  them.  I'he 
evening  closed  in  fast,  and  clouded  over,  dark,  cold,  and  dreary. 

"I  say,  it  must  be  locking-up,  I  should  think,"  remarked  East, 
breaking  the  silence;    "it's  so  dark." 

"What  if  we're  late?"  said  Tom. 

"No  tea,  and  sent  up  to  the  Doctor,"  answered  East. 

The  thought  didn't  add  to  their  cheerfulness.  Presently  a 
faint  halloo  was  heard  from  an  adjoining  field.  They  answered 
it  and  stopped,  hoping  for  some  competent  rustic  to  guide  them, 
when  over  a  gate  some  twenty  yards  ahead  crawled  the  wretched 
Tadpole,  in  a  state  of  collapse;  he  had  lost  a  shoe  in  the  brook, 
and  been  groping  after  It  up  to  his  elbows  in  the  stiff,  wet  clay, 
and  a  more  miserable  creature  in  the  shape  of  boy  seldom  has 
been  seen. 

The  sight  of  him,  nor^vithstanding,  cheered  them,  for  he  was 
some  degrees  more  wretched  than  they.  They  also  cheered  him, 
as  he  was  now  no  longer  under  the  dread  of  passing  his  night 
alone  in  the  fields.  And  so  in  better  heart,  the  three  plashed 
painfully  down  the  never-ending  lane.  At  last  it  widened,  just 
as  utter  darkness  set  in,  and  they  came  out  onto  a  turnpike- 
road,  and  there  paused,  bewildered,  for  they  had  lost  all  hearings, 
and  knew  not  whether  to  turn  to  the  right  or  left. 

Luckily  for  them  they  had  not  to  decide,  for  lumbering  along 
the  road,  with  one  lamp  lighted,  and  two  spavined  horses  in  the 
shafts,  came  a  heavy  coach,  which  after  a  moment's  suspense 
they  recognized  as  the  Oxford  coach,  the  redoubtable  Pig  and 
Whistle. 

It  lumbered  slowly  up,  and  the  boys  mustering  their  last  run, 
caught  it  as  it  passed,  and  began  scrambling  up  behind,  in  which 
exploit  East  missed  his  footing  and  fell  flat  on  his  nose  along  the 

[  H9] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

road.  Then  the  others  hailed  the  old  scarecrow  of  a  coachman, 
who  pulled  up  and  agreed  to  take  them  in  for  a  shilling;  so  there 
they  sat  on  the  back  seat,  drubbing  with  their  heels,  and  their 
teeth  chattering  with  cold,  and  jogged  into  Rugby  some  forty 
minutes  after  locking-up. 

Five  minutes  afterward,  three  small,  limping,  shivering  figures 
steal  along  through  the  Doctor's  garden,  and  into  the  house  by 
the  servants'  entrance  (all  the  other  gates  have  been  closed  long 
since),  where  the  first  thing  they  light  upon  in  the  passage  is  old 
Thomas,  ambling  along,  candle  in  one  hand  and  keys  in  the 
other. 

He  stops  and  examines  their  condition  with  a  grim  smile. 
"Ah!  East,  Hall,  and  Brown,  late  for  locking-up.  Must  go  up 
to  the  Doctor's  study  at  once." 

"Well,  but,  Thomas,  mayn't  we  go  and  wash  first?  You  can 
put  down  the  time,  you  know." 

"Doctor's  study  d'rectly  you  come  in — that's  the  orders,"  re- 
plied old  Thomas,  motioning  toward  the  stairs  at  the  end  of  the 
passage  which  led  up  into  the  Doctor's  house;  and  the  boys 
turned  ruefully  down  it,  not  cheered  by  the  old  verger's  muttered 
remark:  "What  a  pickle  they  boys  be  in!"  Thomas  referred  to 
their  faces  and  habiliments,  but  they  construed  it  as  indicating 
the  Doctor's  state  of  mind.  Upon  the  short  flight  of  stairs  they 
paused  to  hold  counsel. 

"Who'll  go  in  first?"  inquires  Tadpole. 

"You — you're  the  senior,"  answered  East. 

"Catch  me — look  at  the  state  I'm  in,"  rejoined  Hall,  showing 
the  arms  of  his  jacket.     "I  must  get  behind  you  two." 

"Well,  but  look  at  me,"  said  East,  indicating  the  mass  of  clay 
behind  which  he  was  standing;  "I'm  worse  than  you,  two  to 
one;   you  might  grow  cabbages  on  my  trousers." 

"That's  all  down  below,  and  you  can  keep  your  legs  behind  the 
sofa,"  said  Hall. 

"Here,  Brown,  you're  the  show-figure — you  must  lead." 

['5o] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"But  my  face  is  all  nuiddy,"  argued  lorn. 

"Oh,  we're  all  in  one  boat  for  that  matter;  but  come  on,  we're 
only  making  in  worse,  dawdling  here." 

"Well,  just  give  us  a  brush  then,"  said  Tom;  and  they  began 
trying  to  rub  off  the  superfluous  dirt  from  each  other's  jackets, 
but  it  was  not  dry  enough,  and  the  rubbing  made  it  worse;  so 
in  despair  they  pushed  through  the  swing  door  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  and  found  themselves  in  the  Doctor's  hall. 

"That's  the  library  door,"  said  East,  in  a  whisper,  pushing 
Tom  forward.  The  sound  of  merry  voices  and  laughing  came 
from  within,  and  his  first  hesitating  knock  was  unanswered.  But 
at  the  second,  the  Doctor's  voice  said  "Come  in,"  and  Tom  turned 
the  handle,  and  he,  with  the  others  behind  him,  sidled  into  the  room. 

The  Doctor  looked  up  from  his  task;  he  was  working  away 
with  a  great  chisel  at  the  bottom  of  a  boy's  sailing  boat,  the  lines 
of  which  he  was  no  doubt  fashioning  on  the  model  of  one  of  Nicias' 
galleys.  Round  him  stood  three  or  four  children;  the  candles 
burnt  brightly  on  a  large  table  at  the  farther  end,  covered  with 
books  and  papers,  and  a  great  fire  threw  a  ruddy  glow  over  the 
rest  of  the  room.  All  looked  so  kindly,  and  homely,  and  com- 
fortable, that  the  boys  took  heart  in  a  moment,  and  Tom  advanced 
from  behind  the  shelter  of  the  great  sofa.  The  Doctor  nodded 
to  the  children,  who  went  out,  casting  curious  and  amused  glances 
at  the  three  young  scarecrows. 

"Well,  my  little  fellows,"  began  the  Doctor,  drawing  himself 
up  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  the  chisel  in  one  hand  and  his  coat- 
tails  in  the  other,  and  his  eyes  twinkling  as  he  looked  them  over; 
"what  makes  you  so  late .?" 

"Please,  sir,  we've  been  out  Big-side  Hare-and-hounds,  and 
lost  our  way." 

"Hah!  you  couldn't  keep  up,  I  suppose?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  East,  stepping  out,  and  not  liking  that  the 
Doctor  should  think  lightly  of  his  running  powers,  "we  got  Barby 
all  right,  but  then — '* 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Why,  what  a  state  you're  in,  my  boy!"  interrupted  the  Doctor, 
as  the  pitiful  condition  of  East's  garments  was  fully  revealed  to 
him. 

"That's  the  fall  I  got,  sir,  in  the  road,"  said  East,  looking  down 
at  himself;   "the  Old  Pig  came  by — " 

"The  what  ?"  said  the  Doctor. 

"The  Oxford  coach,  sir,"  explained  Hall. 

"Hah!  yes,  the  Regulator,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"And  I  tumbled  on  my  face  trying  to  get  up  behind,"  went  on 
East. 

"You're  not  hurt,  I  hope .?"  said  the  Doctor. 

"Oh  no,  sir." 

"Well,  now,  run  up-stairs,  all  three  of  you,  and  get  clean  clothes 
on,  and  then  tell  the  housekeeper  to  give  you  some  tea.  You're 
too  young  to  try  such  long  runs.  Let  Warner  know  I've  seen 
you.     Good-night." 

"Good-night,  sir."  And  away  scuttled  the  three  boys  in  high 
glee. 

"What  a  brick,  not  to  give  us  even  twenty  lines  to  learn!"  said 
the  Tadpole,  as  they  reached  their  bedroom;  and  in  half  an  hour 
afterward  they  were  sitting  by  the  fire  in  the  housekeeper's  room 
at  a  sumptuous  tea,  with  cold  meat,  "twice  as  good  a  grub  as  we 
should  have  got  in  the  hall,"  as  the  Tadpole  remarked,  with  a 
grin,  his  mouth  full  of  buttered  toast.  All  their  grievances  were 
forgotten,  and  they  were  resolving  to  go  out  the  first  big-side  next 
half,  and  thinking  Hare-and-hounds  the  most  delightful  of  games. 

A  day  or  two  afterward  the  great  passage  outside  the  bedrooms 
was  cleared  of  the  boxes  and  portmanteaus,  which  went  down  to 
be  packed  by  the  matron,  and  great  games  of  chariot-racing,  and 
cock-fighting,  and  bolstering,  went  on  in  the  vacant  space,  the 
sure  sign  of  a  closing  half-year. 

Then  came  the  making-up  of  parties  for  the  journey  home,  and 
Tom  joined  a  party  who  were  to  hire  a  coach,  and  post  with  four 
horses  to  Oxford. 

1 152] 


OLD  THOMAS  SAT  IN  HIS  DEN 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

Then  the  last  Saturday,  on  which  the  Doctor  came  round  to 
each  form  to  give  out  the  prizes,  and  hear  the  masters'  last  reports 
of  how  they  and  their  charges  had  been  conducting  themsevles; 
and  Tom,  to  his  huge  dehght,  was  praised,  and  got  his  remove 
into  the  lower -fourth,  in  which  all  his  school -house  friends 
were. 

On  the  next  Tuesday  morning,  at  four  o'clock,  hot  coffee  was 
going  on  in  the  housekeeper's  and  matron's  rooms;  boys  wrapped 
in  greatcoats  and  mufflers  were  swallowing  hasty  mouthfuls, 
rushing  about,  tumbling  over  luggage,  and  asking  questions  all 
at  once  of  the  matron;  outside  the  school-gates  were  drawn  up 
several  chaises  and  the  four-horse  coach  which  Tom's  party  had 
chartered,  the  post-boys  in  their  best  jackets  and  breeches,  and  a 
cornopean  player,  hired  for  the  occasion,  blowing  away  "A  south- 
erly wind  and  a  cloudy  sky,"  waking  all  peaceful  inhabitants 
half-way  down  the  High  Street. 

Every  minute  the  bustle  and  hubbub  increased,  porters  stag- 
gered about  with  boxes  and  bags,  the  cornopean  played  louder. 
Old  Thomas  sat  in  his  den  with  a  great  yellow  bag  by  his  side, 
out  of  which  he  was  paying  journey  money  to  each  boy,  comparing 
by  the  light  of  a  solitary  dip  the  dirty,  crabbed  little  list  in  his 
own  handwriting  with  the  Doctor's  list,  and  the  amount  of  his 
cash;  his  head  was  on  one  side,  his  mouth  screwed  up,  and  his 
spectacles  dim  from  early  toil.  He  had  prudently  locked  the 
door,  and  carried  on  his  operations  solely  through  the  window,  or 
he  would  have  been  driven  wild,  and  lost  all  his  money. 

"Thomas,  do  be  quick,  we  shall  never  catch  the  Highflyer  at 
Dunchurch." 

"That's  your  money,  all  right.  Green." 

"Hullo,  Thomas,  the  Doctor  said  I  was  to  have  two-pound-ten; 
you've  only  given  me  two  pound."  (I  fear  that  Master  Green 
is  not  confining  himself  strictly  to  truth.)  Thomas  turns  his 
head  more  on  one  side  than  ever,  and  spells  away  at  the  dirty  list. 
Green  is  forced  away  from  the  window. 

[•55] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Here,  Thomas,  never  mind  him,  mine's  thirty  shiUings." 
"And  mine,  too,"  "and  mine,"  shouted  others. 

One  way  or  another,  the  party  to  which  Tom  belonged  all  got 
packed  and  paid,  and  sallied  out  to  the  gates,  the  cornopean  play- 
ing frantically.  Drops  of  Brandy,  in  allusion,  probably,  to  the 
slight  potations  in  which  the  musician  and  post-boys  had  been 
already  indulging.  All  luggage  was  carefully  stowed  away  inside 
the  coach  and  in  the  front  and  hind  boots,  so  that  not  a  hat-box 
was  visible  outside.  Five  or  six  small  boys,  with  pea-shooters, 
and  the  cornopean  player,  got  up  behind;  in  front  the  big  boys, 
mostly  smoking,  not  for  pleasure,  but  because  they  are  now  gentle- 
men at  large — and  this  is  the  most  correct  public  method  of 
notifying  the  fact. 

"Robinson's  coach  will  be  down  the  road  in  a  minute,  it  has 
gone  up  to  Bird's  to  pick  up — we'll  v^ait  till  they're  close,  and 
make  a  race  of  it,"  says  the  leader.  "Now,  boys,  half-a-sovereign 
apiece  if  you  beat  'em  into  Dunchurch  by  one  hundred  yards." 

"All  right,  sir,"  shouted  the  grinning  post-boys. 

Down  comes  Robinson's  coach  in  a  minute  or  two  with  a  rival 
cornopean,  and  away  go  the  two  vehicles,  horses  galloping,  boys 
cheering,  horns  playing  loud.  There  is  a  special  Providence  over 
school-boys  as  well  as  sailors,  or  they  must  have  upset  twenty 
times  in  the  first  five  miles;  sometimes  actually  abreast  of  one 
another,  and  the  boys  on  the  roofs  exchanging  volleys  of  peas, 
now  nearly  running  over  a  post-chaise  which  had  started  before 
them,  now  half-way  up  a  bank,  now  with  a  wheel-and-a-half  over 
a  yawning  ditch;  and  all  this  in  a  dark  morning,  w^ith  nothing  but 
their  own  lamps  to  guide  them.  However,  it's  all  over  at  last, 
and  they  have  run  over  nothing  but  an  old  pig  in  Southam  Street; 
the  last  peas  are  distributed  in  the  Corn  Market  at  Oxford,  w^here 
they  arrive  between  eleven  and  twelve,  and  sit  down  to  a  sump- 
tuous breakfast  at  the  Angel,  which  they  are  made  to  pay  for 
accordingly.  Here  the  party  breaks  up,  all  going  now  different 
ways;    and  Tom  orders  out  a  chaise  and  pair  as  grand  as  a  lord, 

[15^ 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

though  he  has  scarcely  five  sliillings  left  in  his  pocket  and  more 
than  twenty  miles  to  get  home. 

"Where  to,  sir?" 

*'  Red  Lion,  Farringdon,"  says  Tom,  giving  ostler  a  shilling. 

*'A11  right,  sir.  Red  Lion,  Jem,"  to  the  post-boy,  and  Tom 
rattles  away  toward  home.  At  Farringdon,  being  known  to  the 
innkeeper,  he  gets  that  worthy  to  pay  for  the  Oxford  horses,  and 
forward  him  in  another  chaise  at  once;  and  so  the  gorgeous  young 
gentleman  arrives  at  the  paternal  mansion,  and  Squire  Brown 
looks  rather  blue  at  having  to  pay  two-pound  ten  shillings  for  the 
posting  expenses  from  Oxford.  But  the  boy's  intense  joy  at  get- 
ting home,  and  the  wonderful  health  he  is  in,  and  the  good  char- 
acter he  brings,  and  the  brave  stories  he  tells  of  Rugby,  its  doings 
and  delights,  soon  mollify  the  squire,  and  three  happier  people 
didn't  sit  down  to  dinner  that  day  in  England  (it  is  the  boy's  first 
dinner  at  six  o'clock  at  home,  great  promotion,  already)  than 
the  squire  and  his  wife  and  Tom  Brown  at  the  end  of  his  first 
half-year  at  Rugby. 


TOM    BROWN'S 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE    WAR   OF    INDEPENDENCE 

"They  are  slaves  who  will  not  choose 
Hatred,  scoffing,  and  abuse, 
Rather  than  in  silence  shrink 
From  the  truth  they  needs  must  think: 
They  are  slaves  who  dare  not  be 
In  the  right  with  two  or  three." 

— Lowell,  Stanzas  on  Freedom. 

HE  lower- fourth  form,  in  which  Tom  found 
himself  at  the  beginning  of  the  next  half-year, 
was  the  largest  form  in  the  lower  school,  and 
numbered  upward  of  forty  boys.  Young  gen- 
tlemen of  all  ages,  from  nine  to  fifteen,  were 
to  be  found  there,  who  expended  such  part  of 
their  energies  as  was  devoted  to  Latin  and 
Greek,  upon  a  book  of  Livy,  the  Bucolics  of  Virgil,  and  the  Hecuba 
of  Euripides,  which  were  ground  out  in  small  daily  portions.  The 
driving  of  this   unlucky  lower-fourth   must  have  been  grievous 

[•5S] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

work  to  the  unfortunate  master,  for  it  was  the  most  unhappily 
constituted  of  any  in  the  school.  Here  stuck  the  great  stupid 
boys,  who  for  the  life  of  them  could  never  master  the  accidence; 
the  objects  alternately  of  mirth  and  terror  to  the  youngsters,  who 
were  daily  taking  them  up  and  laughing  at  them  in  lesson,  and 
getting  kicked  by  them  for  so  doing  in  play-hours.  There  were 
no  less  than  three  unhappy  fellows  in  tail  coats,  with  incipient 
down  on  their  chins,  whom  the  Doctor  and  the  master  of  the  form 
were  always  endeavoring  to  hoist  into  the  upper  school,  but  whose 
parsing  and  construing  resisted  the  most  well-meant  shoves. 
Then  came  the  mass  of  the  form,  boys  of  eleven  and  twelve,  the 
most  mischievous  and  reckless  age  of  British  youth,  of  whom  East 
and  Tom  Brown  were  fair  specimens.  As  full  of  tricks  as  mon- 
keys, and  of  excuses  as  Irishwomen,  making  fun  of  their  master, 
one  another,  and  their  lessons,  Argus  himself  would  have  been 
puzzled  to  keep  an  eye  on  them;  and  as  for  making  them  steady 
or  serious  for  half  an  hour  together,  it  was  simply  hopeless.  The 
remainder  of  the  form  consisted  of  young  prodigies  of  nine  and 
ten,  who  were  going  up  the  school  at  the  rate  of  a  form  a  half- 
year,  all  boys'  hands  and  wits  being  against  them  in  their  progress. 
It  would  have  been  one  man's  work  to  see  that  the  precocious 
youngsters  had  fair  play;  and  as  the  master  had  a  good  deal 
besides  to  do,  they  hadn't,  and  were  forever  being  shoved  down 
three  or  four  places,  their  verses  stolen,  their  books  inked,  their 
jackets  whitened,  and  their  lives  otherwise  made  a  burden  to  them. 
The  lower-fourth,  and  all  the  forms  below  it,  were  heard  in  the 
great  school,  and  were  not  trusted  to  prepare  their  lessons  before 
coming  in,  but  were  whipped  into  school  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
before  the  lesson  began  by  their  respective  masters,  and  there 
scattered  about  on  the  benches,  with  dictionary  and  grammar, 
hammered  out  their  twenty  lines  of  Virgil  and  pAiripides  in  the 
midst  of  Babel.  The  masters  of  the  lower  school  walked  up  and 
down  the  great  school  together  during  this  three-quarters  of  an 
hour,  or  sat  in  their  desks  reading  or  looking  over  copies,  and 

[159] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

keeping  such  order  as  was  possible.  But  the  lower-fourth  was 
just  now  an  overgrown  form,  too  large  for  any  one  man  to  attend 
to  properly,  and  consequently  the  elysium  or  ideal  form,  of  the 
young  scapegraces  who  formed  the  staple  of  it. 

Tom,  as  has  been  said,  had  come  up  from  the  third  with  a  good 
character,  but  the  temptations  of  the  lower-fourth  soon  proved 
too  strong  for  him,  and  he  rapidly  fell  away,  and  became  as 
unmanageable  as  the  rest.  For  some  weeks,  indeed,  he  succeeded 
in  maintaining  the  appearance  of  steadiness,  and  was  looked  upon 
favorably  by  his  new  master,  whose  eyes  were  first  opened  by  the 
following  little  incident. 

Besides  the  desk  which  the  master  himself  occupied,  there  was 
another  large,  unoccupied  desk  in  the  corner  of  the  great  school, 
which  was  untenanted.  To  rush  and  seize  upon  this  desk,  which 
was  ascended  by  three  steps,  and  held  four  boys,  was  the  great 
object  of  ambition  of  the  lower-fourthers;  and  the  contentions 
for  the  occupation  of  it  bred  such  disorder,  that  at  last  the  master 
forbade  its  use  altogether.  This,  of  course,  was  a  challenge  to 
the  more  adventurous  spirits  to  occupy  it,  and  as  it  was  capacious 
enough  for  two  boys  to  lie  hid  there  completely,  it  was  seldom  that 
it  remained  empty,  notwithstanding  the  veto.  Small  holes  were 
cut  in  the  front,  through  which  the  occupants  watched  the  masters 
as  they  walked  up  and  down,  and  as  lesson-time  approached,  one 
boy  at  a  time  stole  out  and  down  the  steps,  as  the  masters'  backs 
were  turned,  and  mingled  with  the  general  crowd  on  the  forms 
below.  Tom  and  East  had  successfully  occupied  the  desk  some 
half-dozen  times,  and  were  grown  so  reckless  that  they  were  in 
the  habit  of  playing  small  games  with  fives'-balls  inside  when  the 
masters  were  at  the  other  end  of  the  big  school.  One  day,  as  ill- 
luck  would  have  it,  the  game  became  more  exciting  than  usual, 
and  the  ball  slipped  through  East's  fingers,  and  rolled  slowly 
down  the  steps,  and  out  into  the  middle  of  the  school,  just  as  the 
masters  turned  in  their  walk  and  faced  round  upon  the  desk. 
The  young  delinquents  watched  their  master  through  the  lookout 

[160] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

holes,  march  slowly  down  the  school  straight  upon  their  retreat, 
while  all  the  boys  in  the  neighborhood,  of  course,  stopped  their 
work  to  look  on:  and  not  only  were  they  ignominiously  drawn  out, 
and  caned  over  the  hand  then  and  there,  but  their  characters  for 
steadiness  were  gone  from  that  time.  However,  as  they  only 
shared  the  fate  of  some  three-fourths  of  the  rest  of  the  form,  this 
did  not  weigh  heavily  upon  them. 

In  fact,  the  only  occasions  on  which  they  cared  about  the  matter 
were  the  monthly  examinations,  when  the  Doctor  came  round  to 
examine  their  form,  for  one  long,  awful  hour,  in  the  work  which 
they  had  done  in  the  preceding  month.  The  second  monthly 
examination  came  round  soon  after  Tom's  fall,  and  it  was  with 
anything  but  lively  anticipations  that  he  and  the  other  lower-fourth 
boys  came  in  to  prayers  on  the  morning  of  the  examination  day. 

Prayers  and  calling-over  seemed  twice  as  short  as  usual,  and 
before  they  could  get  construes  of  a  tithe  of  the  hard  passages 
marked  in  the  margin  of  their  books,  they  were  all  seated  round, 
and  the  Doctor  was  standing  in  the  middle,  talking  in  whispers 
to  the  master.  Tom  couldn't  hear  a  word  which  passed,  and 
never  lifted  his  eyes  from  his  book;  but  he  knew  by  a  sort  of  mag- 
netic instinct  that  the  Doctor's  underlip  was  coming  out,  and  his 
eye  beginning  to  burn,  and  his  gown  getting  gathered  up  more 
and  more  tightly  in  his  left  hand.  The  suspense  was  agonizing, 
and  Tom  knew  that  he  was  sure  on  such  occasions  to  make  an 
example  of  the  School-house  boys.  "If  he  would  only  begin," 
thought  Tom,  "I  shouldn't  mind." 

At  last  the  whispering  ceased,  and  the  name  which  was  called 
out  was  not  Brown.  He  looked  up  for  a  moment,  but  the  Doctor's 
face  was  too  awful;  Tom  wouldn't  have  met  his  eye  for  all  he  was 
worth,  and  buried  himself  in  his  book  again. 

The  boy  who  was  called  up  first  was  a  clever,  merry  School- 
house  boy,  one  of  their  set;  he  was  some  connection  of  the  Doc- 
tor's, and  a  great  favorite,  and  ran  in  and  out  of  his  house  as  he 
liked,  and  so  was  selected  for  the  first  victim. 

[.6i] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Triste  lupus,  stabulis,"  began  the  luckless  youngster,  and 
stammered  through  some  eight  or  ten  lines. 

"There,  that  will  do,"  said  the  Doctor;    "now  construe." 

On  common  occasions,  the  boy  could  have  construed  the  passage 
well  enough,  probably,  but  now  his  head  was  gone. 

"Triste  lupus,  the  sorrowful  wolf,"  he  began. 

A  shudder  ran  through  the  whole  form,  and  the  Doctor's  wrath 
fairly  boiled  over;  he  made  three  steps  up  to  the  construer,  and 
gave  him  a  good  box  on  the  ear.  The  blow  was  not  a  hard  one, 
but  the  boy  was  so  taken  by  surprise  that  he  started  back;  the 
form  caught  the  back  of  his  knees,  and  over  he  went  onto  the  floor 
behind.  There  was  a  dead  silence  over  the  whole  school;  never 
before,  and  never  again  while  Tom  was  at  school,  did  the  Doctor 
strike  a  boy  in  lesson.  The  provocation  must  have  been  great. 
However,  the  victim  had  saved  his  form  for  that  occasion,  for  the 
Doctor  turned  to  the  top  bench,  and  put  on  the  best  boys  for  the 
rest  of  the  hour;  and  though,  at  the  end  of  the  lesson,  he  gave 
them  all  such  a  rating  as  they  did  not  forget,  this  terrible  field-day 
passed  over  without  any  severe  visitations  in  the  shape  of  punish- 
ments or  floggings.  Forty  young  scapegraces  expressed  their 
thanks  to  the  "sorrowful  wolf"  in  their  different  ways  before 
second  lesson. 

But  a  character  for  steadiness  once  gone  is  not  easily  recovered, 
as  Tom  found,  and  for  years  afterward  he  went  up  to  the  school 
without  it,  and  the  masters'  hands  were  against  him,  and  his 
against  them.  And  he  regarded  them,  as  a  matter  of  course,  as 
his  natural  enemies.  Matters  were  not  so  comfortable,  either,  in 
the  house  as  they  had  been,  for  old  Brooke  left  at  Christmas,  and 
one  or  two  others  of  the  sixth-form  boys  at  the  following  Easter. 
Their  rule  had  been  rough,  but  strong  and  just  in  the  main,  and 
a  higher  standard  was  beginning  to  be  set  up;  in  fact,  there  had 
been  a  short  foretaste  of  the  good  time  which  followed  some  years 
later.  Just  now,  however,  all  threatened  to  return  into  darkness 
and  chaos  again.     For  the  new  praepostors  were  either  small, 

[,62] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

young  boys,  whose  cleverness  had  carried  them  up  to  the  top  of 
the  school,  while  in  strength  of  body  and  character  they  were  not 
yet  fit  for  a  share  in  the  government;  or  else  big  fellows  of  the 
wrong  sort,  boys  whose  friendships  and  tastes  had  a  downward 
tendency,  who  had  not  caught  the  meaning  of  their  position  and 
work,  and  felt  none  of  its  responsibilities.  So,  under  this  no- 
government,  the  School-house  began  to  see  bad  times.  The  big 
fitth-form  boys,  who  were  a  sporting  and  drinking  set,  soon  began 
to  usurp  power,  and  to  fag  the  little  boys  as  if  they  were  praepostors, 
and  to  bully  and  oppress  any  who  showed  signs  of  resistence. 
The  bigger  sort  of  sixth-form  boys  just  described  soon  made  com- 
mon cause  with  the  fifth,  while  the  smaller  sort,  hampered  by  their 
colleagues'  desertion  to  the  enemy,  could  not  make  head  against 
them.  So  the  fags  were  without  their  lawful  masters  and  pro- 
tectors, and  ridden  over  rough-shod  by  a  set  of  boys  whom  they 
were  not  bound  to  obey,  and  whose  only  right  over  them  stood  in 
their  bodily  powers;  and,  as  old  Brooke  had  prophesied,  the 
house  by  degrees  broke  up  into  small  sets  and  parties,  and  lost 
the  strong  feeling  of  fellowship  which  he  set  so  much  store  by, 
and  with  it  much  of  the  prowess  in  games  and  the  lead  in  all  school 
matters  which  he  had  done  so  much  to  keep  up. 

In  no  place  in  the  world  has  individual  character  more  weight 
than  at  a  public  school.  Remember  this,  I  beseech  you,  all  you 
boys  who  are  getting  into  the  upper  forms.  Now  is  the  time  in 
all  your  lives,  probably,  when  you  may  have  more  wide  influence 
for  good  or  evil  on  the  society  you  live  in  than  you  ever  can  have 
again.  Quit  yourselves  like  men,  then;  speak  up,  and  strike  out 
if  necessary,  for  whatsoever  is  true,  and  manly,  and  lovely,  and 
of  good  report;  never  try  to  be  popular,  but  only  to  do  your  duty 
and  help  others  to  do  theirs,  and  you  may  leave  the  tone  of  feeling 
in  the  school  higher  than  you  found  it,  and  so  be  doing  good, 
which  no  living  soul  can  measure,  to  generations  of  your  country- 
men yet  unborn.  For  boys  follow  one  another  in  herds  like  sheep, 
for  good  or  evil;   they  hate  thinking,  and  have  rarely  any  settled 

[163] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

principles.  Every  school,  indeed,  has  its  own  traditionary  stand- 
ard of  right  and  wrong,  which  cannot  be  transgressed  with  im- 
punity, marking  certain  things  as  low  and  blackguard,  and  certain 
others  as  lawful  and  right.  This  standard  is  ever  varying,  though 
it  changes  only  slowly,  and  little  by  little;  and,  subject  only  to 
such  standard,  it  is  the  leading  boys  for  the  time  being  who  give 
the  tone  to  all  the  rest,  and  make  the  School  either  a  noble  institu- 
tion for  the  training  of  Christian  Englishmen,  or  a  place  where 
a  young  boy  will  get  more  evil  than  he  would  if  he  were  turned 
out  to  make  his  way  in  London  streets,  or  anything  between  these 
two  extremes. 

The  change  for  the  worse  in  the  School-house,  however,  didn't' 
press  very  heavily  on  our  youngsters  for  some  time;  they  were  in 
a  good  bedroom,  where  slept  the  only  praepostor  left  who  was 
able  to  keep  thorough  order,  and  their  study  was  in  his  passage; 
so,  though  they  were  fagged  more  or  less,  and  occasionally  kicked 
or  cuffed  by  the  bullies,  they  were  on  the  whole  well  off;  and  the 
fresh,  brave,  school-life,  so  full  of  games,  adventures,  and  good 
fellowship,  so  ready  at  forgetting,  so  capacious  at  enjoying,  so 
bright  at  forecasting,  outweighed  a  thousandfold  their  troubles 
with  the  master  of  their  form,  and  the  occasional  ill-usage  of  the 
big  boys  in  the  house.  It  wasn't  till  some  year  or  so  after  the 
events  recorded  above,  that  the  praepostor  of  their  room  and  pas- 
sage left.  None  of  the  other  sixth-form  boys  would  move  into 
their  passage,  and,  to  the  disgust  and  indignation  of  Tom  and 
East,  one  morning  after  breakfast  they  were  seized  upon  by 
Flashman,  and  made  to  carry  down  his  books  and  furniture  into 
the  unoccupied  study  which  he  had  taken.  From  this  time  they 
began  to  feel  the  weight  of  the  tyranny  of  Flashman  and  his 
friends,  and,  now  that  trouble  had  come  home  to  their  own  doors, 
began  to  look  out  for  sympathizers  and  partners  among  the  rest 
of  the  fags;  and  meetings  of  the  oppressed  began  to  be  held,  and 
murmurs  to  arise,  and  plots  to  be  laid  as  to  how  they  should  free 
themselves  and  be  avenged  on  their  enemies. 

[164] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

While  matters  were  in  this  state,  East  and  Tom  were  one  even- 
ing sitting  in  their  study.  They  had  done  their  work  for  first 
lesson,  and  Fom  was  in  a  brown  study,  brooding,  like  a  young 
William  lell,  upon  the  wrongs  of  fags  in  general,  and  his  own 
in  particular. 

"  1  say.  Scud,"  said  he  at  last,  rousing  himself  to  snufF  the  candle, 
"what  right  have  the  fifth-form  boys  to  fag  us  as  they  do  ?" 

"No  more  right  than  you  have  to  fag  them,"  answered  East, 
without  looking  up  from  an  early  number  of  Pickwick,  which  was 
just  coming  out,  and  which  he  was  luxuriously  devouring,  stretched 
on  his  back  on  the  sofa. 

Tom  relapsed  into  his  brown  study,  and  East  went  on  reading 
and  chuckling.  The  contrast  of  the  boys'  faces  would  have  given 
infinite  amusement  to  a  looker-on,  the  one  so  solemn  and  big  with 
mighty  purpose,  the  other  radiant  and  bubbling  over  with  fun. 

"Do  vou  know,  old  fellow,  I've  been  thinking  it  over  a  good 
deal,"  began  Tom  again. 

"Oh  yes,  I  know,  fagging  you  are  thinking  of.  Hang  it  all — 
but  listen  here,  Tom — here's  fun.     Mr.  Winkle's  horse — " 

"And  I've  made  up  my  mind,"  broke  in  Tom,  "that  I  won't 
fag  except  for  the  sixth." 

"Quite  right,  too,  my  boy,"  cried  East,  putting  his  finger  on 
the  place  and  looking  up;  "but  a  pretty  peck  of  troubles  you'll 
get  into,  if  you're  going  to  play  that  game.  However,  I'm  all  for 
a  strike  myself,  if  we  can  get  others  to  join — it's  getting  too  bad." 

"  Can't  we  get  some  sixth-form  fellow  to  take  it  up  .^"  asked  Tom. 

"Well,  perhaps  we  might;  Morgan  would  interfere,  I  think. 
Only,"  added  East,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "you  see,  we  should 
have  to  tell  him  about  it,  and  that's  against  School  principles. 
Don't  you  remember  what  old  Brooke  said  about  learning  to  take 
our  own  parts  V' 

"Ah,  I  wish  old  Brooke  were  back  again — it  was  all  right  in 
his  time." 

"Why,  yes;  you  see,  then  the  strongest  and  best  fellows  were  in 

[165] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

the  sixth,  and  the  fifth-form  fellows  were  afraid  of  them,  and  they 
kept  good  order;  but  now  our  sixth-form  fellows  are  too  small, 
and  the  fifth  don't  care  for  them,  and  do  what  they  like  in  the 
house." 

"And  so  we  get  a  double  set  of  masters,"  cried  Tom,  indig- 
nantly; "the  lawful  ones,  who  are  responsible  to  the  Doctor,  at 
a»"y  rate,  and  the  unlawful — the  tyrants,  who  are  responsible  to 
nobody." 

"Down  with  the  tyrants!"  cried  East;  "I'm  all  for  law  and 
order,  and  hurra  for  a  revolution!" 

"1  shouldn't  mind  if  it  were  only  for  young  Brooke  now,"  said 
Tom;  "he's  such  a  good-hearted,  gentlemanly  fellow,  and  ought 
to  be  in  the  sixth — I'd  do  anything  for  him.  But  that  blackguard 
Flashman,  who  never  speaks  to  one  without  a  kick  or  an  oath — " 

"The  cowardly  brute,"  broke  in  East,  "how  I  hate  him!  And 
he  knows  it,  too;  he  knows  that  you  and  I  think  him  a  coward. 
What  a  bore  that  he's  got  a  study  in  this  passage!  don't  you  hear 
them  now  at  supper  in  his  den  .?  Brandy  punch  going,  I'll  bet. 
I  wish  the  Doctor  would  come  out  and  catch  him.  We  must 
change  our  study  as  soon  as  we  can." 

"Change  or  no  change,  I'll  never  fag  for  him  again,"  said  Tom, 
thumping  the  table. 

"Fa-a-a-ag!"  sounded  along  the  passage  from  Flashman's 
study.  The  two  boys  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  It  had 
struck  nine,  so  the  regular  night  fags  had  left  duty,  and  they  were 
the  nearest  to  the  supper-party.  East  sat  up  and  began  to  look 
comical,  as  he  always  did  under  difficulties. 

"Fa-a-a-ag!"  again.     No  answer. 

"Here,  Brown!  East!  you  cursed  young  skulks,"  roared  out 
Flashman,  coming  to  his  open  door,  "I  know  you're  in — no 
shirking." 

Tom  stole  to  their  door,  and  drew  the  bolts  as  noiselessly  as 
he  could;  East  blew  out  the  candle.  "Barricade  the  first," 
whispered  he.     "Now,  Tom,  mind,  no  surrender." 

[i66] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

** Trust  me  for  that,"  said  Tom,  between  his  teeth. 

In  another  minute  they  heard  the  supper-party  turn  out  and 
come  down  the  passage  to  their  door.  They  held  their  breaths, 
and  heard  whispering,  of  which  they  only  made  out  Flashman's 
words:  "I  know  the  young  brutes  are  in." 

Then  came  summonses  to  open,  which,  being  unanswered,  the 
assault  commenced;  luckily,  the  door  was  a  good,  strong,  oak 
one,  and  resisted  the  united  weight  of  Flashman's  party.  A  pause 
followed,  and  they  heard  a  besieger  remark:  "They're  in,  safe 
enough — don't  you  see  how  the  door  holds  at  top  and  bottom  ^ 
so  the  bolts  must  be  drawn.  We  should  have  forced  the  lock  long 
ago."  East  gave  Tom  a  nudge,  to  call  attention  to  this  scientific 
remark. 

Then  came  attacks  on  particular  panels,  one  of  which  at  last 
gave  way  to  the  repeated  kicks;  but  it  broke  inward,  and  the 
broken  piece  got  jammed  across,  the  door  being  lined  with  green 
baize,  and  couldn't  easily  be  removed  from  outside;  and  the 
besieged,  scorning  further  concealment,  strengthened  their  de- 
fences by  pressing  the  end  of  their  sofa  against  the  door.  So, 
after  one  or  two  more  ineffectual  efforts,  Flashman  and  Co. 
retired,  vowing  vengeance  in  no  mild  terms. 

The  hrst  danger  over,  it  only  remained  for  the  besieged  to  effect 
a  safe  retreat,  as  it  was  now  near  bedtime.  They  listened  in- 
tently, and  heard  the  supper-party  resettle  themselves,  and  then 
gently  drew  back  first  one  bolt  and  then  the  other.  Presently  the 
convivial  noises  began  again,  steadily.  "Now,  then,  stand  by  for 
a  run,"  said  East,  throwing  the  door  wide  open  and  rushing  into 
the  passage,  closely  followed  by  Tom.  They  were  too  quick  to 
be  caught;  but  Flashman  was  on  the  lookout,  and  sent  an  empty 
pickle-jar  whizzing  after  them,  which  narrowly  missed  Tom's 
head,  and  broke  into  twenty  pieces  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  "He 
wouldn't  mind  killing  one  if  he  wasn't  caught,"  said  East,  as  they 
turned  the  corner. 

There  was  no  pursuit,  so  the  two  turned  into  the  hall,  where 

[167] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

they  found  a  knot  of  sm-all  boys  round  the  fire.  Their  story  was 
told — the  war  of  independence  had  broken  out — who  would  join 
the  revolutionary  forces  ?  Several  others  present  bound  them- 
selves not  to  fag  for  the  fifth-form  at  once.  One  or  two  only  edged 
off,  and  left  the  rebels.  What  else  could  they  do  ?  "I've  a  good 
mind  to  go  to  the  Doctor  straight,"  said  Tom. 

"That  '11  never  do — don't  you  remember  the  levy  of  the  school 
last  half.?"  put  in  another. 

In  fact,  that  solemn  assembly,  a  levy  of  the  school,  had  been 
held,  at  which  the  captain  of  the  school  had  got  up,  and,  after 
premising  that  several  instances  had  occurred  of  matters  having 
been  reported  to  the  masters,  that  this  was  against  public  morality 
and  school  tradition;  that  a  levy  of  the  sixth  had  been  held  on  the 
subject,  and  they  had  resolved  that  the  practice  must  be  stopped 
at  once;  had  given  out  that  any  boy,  in  whatever  form,  who 
should  thenceforth  appeal  to  a  master,  without  having  first  gone 
to  some  praepostor  and  laid  the  case  before  him,  should  be  thrashed 
publiclv,  and  sent  to  Coventry. 

"Well,  then,  let's  try  the  sixth.  Try  Morgan,"  suggested  an- 
other.    "  No  use  " — "  Blabbing  won't  do,"  was  the  general  feeling. 

"I'll  give  you  fellows  a  piece  of  advice,"  said  a  voice  from  the 
end  of  the  hall.  They  all  turned  round  with  a  start,  and  the 
speaker  got  up  from  a  bench  on  which  he  had  been  lying  unob- 
served, and  gave  himself  a  shake;  he  was  a  big,  loose-made  fellow, 
with  huge  limbs  which  had  grown  too  far  through  his  jacket  and 
trousers.  "Don't  you  go  to  anybody  at  all — you  just  stand  out; 
say  you  won't  fag — they  '11  soon  get  tired  of  licking  you.  I've 
tried  it  on  years  ago  with  their  forerunners." 

"No!  did  you  .?  tell  us  how  it  was,"  cried  a  chorus  of  voices,  as 
they  clustered  round  him. 

"Well,  just  as  it  is  with  you.  The  fifth-form  would  fag  us, 
and  I  and  some  more  struck,  and  we  beat  'em.  The  good  fellows 
left  off  directly,  and  the  bullies  who  kept  on  soon  got  afraid." 

"Was  Flashman  here  then  .?" 

[i68] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"Yes!  and  a  dirty  little  snivelling,  sneaking  fellow  he  was,  too. 
He  never  dared  join  us,  and  used  to  toad\-  the  bullies  by  offering 
to  fag  for  them,  and  peaching  against  the  rest  of  us." 

"Why  wasn't  he  cut,  then  .^"  said  East. 

"Oh,  toadies  never  get  cut,  they're  too  useful.  Besides,  he  has 
no  end  of  great  hampers  from  home,  with  wine  and  game  in  them; 
so  he  toadied  and  fed  himself  into  favor." 

The  quarter-to-ten  bell  now  rang,  and  the  small  boys  went  off 
up-stairs,  still  consulting  together,  and  praising  their  new  counsel- 
lor, who  stretched  himself  out  on  the  bench  before  the  hall  fire 
again.  There  he  lay,  a  very  queer  specimen  of  boyhood,  by  name 
Diggs,  and  familiarly  called  "the  Mucker."  He  was  young  for 
his  size,  and  a  very  clever  fellow,  nearly  at  the  top  of  the  filth. 
His  friends  at  home,  having  regard,  I  suppose,  to  his  age,  and  not 
to  his  size  and  place  in  the  school,  hadn't  put  him  into  tails;  and 
even  his  jackets  were  always  too  small;  and  he  had  a  talent  for 
destroying  clothes,  and  making  himsclt  look  shabby.  He  wasn't 
on  terms  with  Flashman's  set,  who  sneered  at  his  dress  and  wa}'s 
behind  his  back,  which  he  knew,  and  revenged  himself  by  asking 
Flashman  the  most  disagreeable  questions,  and  treating  him 
familiarly  whenever  a  crowd  of  boys  were  round  them.  Neither 
was  he  intimate  with  any  of  the  other  bigger  boys,  who  were 
warned  off  by  his  oddnesses,  for  he  was  a  very  queer  fellow;  be- 
sides, among  other  failings,  he  had  that  of  impecuniosity  in  a 
remarkable  degree.  He  brought  as  much  money  as  other  boys 
to  school,  but  got  rid  of  it  in  no  time,  no  one  knew  how\  And 
then,  being  also  reckless,  borrowed  from  any  one,  and  when  his 
debts  accumulated  and  creditors  pressed,  would  have  an  auction 
in  the  hall  of  everything  he  possessed  in  the  world,  selling  even 
his  school-books,  candlestick,  and  study  table.  For  weeks  after 
one  of  these  auctions,  having  rendered  his  study  uninhabitable, 
he  would  live  about  in  the  fifth-form  room  and  hall,  doino;  his 
verses  on  old  letter-backs  and  odd  scraps  of  paper,  and  learning 
his  lessons  no  one  knew  ho^v.  He  never  meddled  with  any  little 
13  [  169  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

boy,  and  was  popular  with  them,  though  they  all  looked  on  him 
with  a  sort  of  compassion,  and  called  him  "poor  Diggs,"  not  being 
able  to  resist  appearances,  or  to  disregard  wholly  even  the  sneers 
of  their  enemy,  Flashman.  However,  he  seemed  equally  indiffer- 
ent to  the  sneers  of  big  boys  and  the  pity  of  small  ones,  and  lived 
his  own  queer  life  with  much  apparent  enjoyment  to  himself.  It 
is  necessary  to  introduce  Diggs  thus  particularly,  as  he  not  only 
did  Tom  and  East  good  service  in  their  present  warfare,  as  is  about 
to  be  told,  but  soon  afterward,  when  he  got  into  the  sixth,  chose 
them  for  his  fags,  and  excused  them  from  study-fagging,  thereby 
earning  unto  himself  eternal  gratitude  from  them,  and  all  who  are 
interested  in  their  history. 

And  seldom  had  small  boys  more  need  of  a  friend,  for  the  morn- 
ing after  the  siege  the  storm  burst  upon  the  rebels  in  all  its  violence. 
Flashman  laid  wait,  and  caught  Tom  before  second  lesson,  and 
receiving  a  point-blank  "No,"  when  told  to  fetch  his  hat,  seized 
him  and  twisted  his  arm,  and  went  through  the  other  methods  of 
torture  in  use.  "He  couldn't  make  me  cry,  though,"  as  Tom 
said,  triumphantly,  to  the  rest  of  the  rebels,  "and  I  kicked  his 
shins  well,  I  know."  And  soon  it  crept  out  that  a  lot  of  the  fags 
were  in  league,  and  Flashman  excited  his  associates  to  join  him 
in  bringing  the  young  vagabonds  to  their  senses;  and  the  house 
was  filled  with  constant  chasings,  and  sieges,  and  lickings  of  all 
sorts;  and  in  return,  the  bullies'  beds  were  pulled  to  pieces,  and 
drenched  with  water,  and  their  names  written  upon  the  walls 
with  every  insulting  epithet  which  the  fag  invention  could  furnish. 
The  war,  in  short,  raged  fiercely;  but  soon,  as  Diggs  had  told 
them,  all  the  better  fellows  in  the  fifth  gave  up  trying  to  fag  them, 
and  public  feeling  began  to  set  against  Flashman  and  his  two  or 
three  intimates,  and  they  were  obliged  to  keep  their  doings  more 
secret,  but,  being  thorough  bad  fellows,  missed  no  opportunity  of 
torturing  in  private.  Flashman  was  an  adept  in  all  ways,  but 
above  all,  in  the  power  of  saying  cutting  and  cruel  things, 
and  could  often  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  boys  in  this  way, 

[170] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

which  all  the  thrashings  in  the  world  wouldn't  have  wrung  from 
them. 

And  as  his  operations  were  being  cut  short  in  other  directions, 
he  now  devoted  himself  chiefly  to  Tom  and  East,  who  lived  at  his 
own  door,  and  would  force  himself  into  their  study  whenever  he 
found  a  chance,  and  sit  there,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  with  a 
companion,  interrupting  all  their  work,  and  exulting  in  the  evident 
pain  which  every  now  and  then  he  could  see  he  was  inflicting  on 
one  or  the  other. 

The  storm  had  cleared  the  air  for  the  rest  of  the  house,  and  a 
better  state  of  things  now  began  than  there  had  been  since  old 
Brooke  had  left :  but  an  angry,  dark  spot  of  thunder-cloud  still 
hung  over  the  end  of  the  passage,  where  Flashman's  study  and 
that  of  East  and  Tom  lay. 

He  felt  that  they  had  been  the  first  rebels,  and  that  the  rebellion 
had  been  to  a  great  extent  successful ;  but  what  above  all  stirred 
the  hatred  and  bitterness  of  his  heart  against  them,  was  that  in 
the  frequent  collisions  which  there  had  been  of  late,  they  had 
openly  called  him  coward  and  sneak — the  taunts  were  too  true  to 
be  forgiven.  While  he  was  in  the  act  of  thrashing  them,  they 
would  roar  out  instances  of  his  funking  at  football,  or  shirking 
some  encounter  with  a  lout  of  half  his  own  size.  These  things 
were  all  well  enough  known  in  the  house,  but  to  have  his  disgrace 
shouted  out  by  small  boys,  to  feel  that  they  despised  him,  to  be 
unable  to  silence  them  by  any  amount  of  torture,  and  to  see  the 
open  laugh  and  sneer  of  his  own  associates  (who  were  looking  on 
and  took  no  trouble  to  hide  their  scorn  from  him,  though  they 
neither  interfered  with  his  bullying  nor  lived  a  bit  the  less  inti- 
mately with  him),  made  him  beside  himself.  Come  what  might, 
he  would  make  those  boys'  lives  miserable.  So  the  strife  settled 
down  into  a  personal  affair  between  Flashman  and  our  youngsters; 
a  war  to  the  knife,  to  be  fought  out  in  the  little  cockpit  at  the  end 
of  the  bottom  passage. 

Flashman,  be  it  said,  was  about  seventeen  years  old,  and  big 


TOM   BROWN'S 

and  strong  for  his  age.  He  played  well  at  all  games  where  pluck 
wasn't  much  wanted,  and  managed  generally  to  keep  up  appear- 
ances where  it  was;  and  having  a  bluff,  offhand  manner,  which 
passed  for  heartiness,  and  considerable  powers  of  being  pleasant 
when  he  liked,  went  down  with  the  school  in  general  for  a  good 
fellow  enough.  Even  in  the  School-house,  by  dint  of  his  com- 
mand of  money,  the  constant  supply  of  good  things  which  he 
kept  up,  and  his  adroit  toadyism,  he  had  managed  to  make  him- 
self not  only  tolerated,  but  rather  popular  among  his  own  contem- 
poraries; although  young  Brooke  scarcely  spoke  to  him,  and  one 
or  two  others  of  the  right  sort  showed  their  opinions  of  him  when- 
ever a  chance  offered.  But  the  wrong  sort  happened  to  be  in  the 
ascendant  just  now,  so  Flashman  was  a  formidable  enemy  for 
small  boys.  This  soon  became  plain  enough.  Flashman  left  no 
slander  unspoken,  and  no  deed  undone,  which  could  in  any  way 
hurt  his  victims,  or  isolate  them  from  the  rest  of  the  house.  One 
by  one  most  of  the  other  rebels  fell  away  from  them,  while  Flash- 
man's  cause  prospered,  and  several  other  fifth-form  boys  began 
to  look  black  at  them  and  ill-treat  them  as  they  passed  about  the 
house.  By  keeping  out  of  bounds,  or  at  all  events  out  of  the 
house  and  quadrangle,  all  day,  and  carefully  barring  themselves 
in  at  night.  East  and  Tom  managed  to  hold  on  without  feeling 
very  miserable;  but  it  was  as  much  as  they  could  do.  Greatly 
were  they  drawn,  then,  toward  old  Diggs,  who,  in  an  uncouth 
way,  began  to  take  a  good  deal  of  notice  of  them,  and  once  or 
twice  came  to  their  study  when  Flashman  was  there,  who  imme- 
diately decamped  in  consequence.  The  boys  thought  that  Diggs 
must  have  been  watching. 

When,  therefore,  about  this  time,  an  auction  was  one  night 
announced  to  take  place  in  the  hall,  at  which,  among  the  super- 
fluities of  other  boys,  all  Diggs's  Penates  for  the  time  being  were 
going  to  the  hammer.  East  and  Tom  laid  their  heads  together, 
and  resolved  to  devote  their  ready  cash  (some  four  shillings  ster- 
ling) to  redeem  such  articles  as  that  sum  would  cover.     Accord- 

[  172] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

ingly,  they  duly  attended  to  bid,  and  Tom  became  the  owner  of 
two  lots  of  Diggs's  things — lot  i,  price  one-and-threepence,  consist- 
ing (as  the  auctioneer  remarked)  of  a  "valuable  assortment  of 
old  metals,"  in  the  shape  of  a  mouse-trap,  a  cheese-toaster  without 
a  handle,  and  a  sauce-pan;  lot  2,  of  a  villainous,  dirty  table-cloth 
and  a  green-baize  curtain;  while  East  for  one-and-sixpence  pur- 
chased a  leather  paper-case,  with  a  lock  but  no  key,  once  hand- 
some, but  now  much  the  worse  for  wear.  But  they  had  still  the 
point  to  settle  of  how  to  get  Diggs  to  take  the  things  without 
hurting  his  feelings.  This  they  solved  by  leaving  them  in  his 
study,  which  was  never  locked  when  he  was  out.  Diggs,  who  had 
attended  the  auction,  remembered  who  had  bought  the  lots,  and 
came  to  their  study  soon  after,  and  sat  silent  for  some  time, 
cracking  his  great,  red  finger-joints.  Then  he  laid  hold  of  their 
verses,  and  began  looking  over  and  altering  them,  and  at  last  got 
up,  and  turning  his  back  to  them,  said:  "You're  uncommon  good- 
hearted  little  beggars,  you  two — I  value  that  paper-case;  my  sister 
gave  it  me  last  holidays — I  won't  forget";  and  so  tumbled  out 
into  the  passage,  leaving  them  somewhat  embarrassed,  but  not 
sorry  that  he  knew  what  they  had  done. 

The  next  morning  was  Saturday,  the  day  on  which  the  allow- 
ances of  one  shilling  a  week  were  paid,  an  important  event  to 
spendthrift  youngsters;  and  great  was  the  disgust  among  the 
small  fry  to  hear  that  all  the  allowances  had  been  impounded  for 
the  Derby  lottery.  That  great  event  in  the  English  year,  the 
Derby,  was  celebrated  at  Rugby  in  those  days  by  many  lotteries. 
It  was  not  an  improving  custom,  I  own,  gentle  reader,  and  led 
to  making  books  and  betting  and  other  objectionable  results;  but 
when  our  great  Houses  of  Palaver  think  it  right  to  stop  the  nation's 
business  on  that  day,  and  many  of  the  members  bet  heavily 
themselves,  can  you  blame  us  boys  for  following  the  example  of 
our  betters  ^ — at  any  rate  we  did  follow  it.  First  there  was  the 
great  School  lottery,  where  the  first  prize  was  six  or  seven  pounds; 
then  each  house  had  one  or  more  separate  lotteries.     These  were 

[173] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

all  nominally  voluntary,  no  boy  being  compelled  to  put  in  his  shil- 
ling who  didn't  choose  to  do  so;  but  besides  Flashman,  there  were 
three  or  four  other  fast  sporting  young  gentlemen  in  the  School- 
house,  who  considered  subscription  a  matter  of  duty  and  neces- 
sity, and  so,  to  make  their  duty  come  easy  to  the  small  boys, 
quietly  secured  the  allowances  in  a  lump  when  given  out  for  dis- 
tribution, and  kept  them.  It  was  no  use  grumbling — so  many 
fewer  tartlets  and  apples  were  eaten  and  fives'-balls  bought  on 
that  Saturday;  and  after  locking-up,  when  the  money  would 
otherwise  have  been  spent,  consolation  was  carried  to  many  a 
small  boy,  by  the  sound  of  the  night-fags  shouting  along  the 
passages,  "Gentlemen  sportsmen  of  the  School-house,  the  lot- 
tery's going  to  be  drawn  in  the  hall."  It  was  pleasant  to  be 
called  a  gentleman  sportsman — also  to  have  a  chance  of  drawing 
a  favorite  horse. 

The  hall  was  full  of  boys,  and  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  long 
tables  stood  the  sporting  interest,  with  a  hat  before  them,  in  which 
were  the  tickets  folded  up.  One  of  them  then  began  calling  out 
the  list  of  the  house;  each  boy,  as  his  name  was  called,  drew  a 
ticket  from  the  hat  and  opened  it;  and  most  of  the  bigger  boys, 
after  drawing,  left  the  hall  directly  to  go  back  to  their  studies 
or  the  fifth-form  room.  The  sporting  interest  had  all  drawn 
blanks,  and  they  were  sulky  accordingly;  neither  of  the  favorites 
had  yet  been  drawn,  and  it  had  come  down  to  the  upper-fourth. 
So  now,  as  each  small  boy  came  up  and  drew  his  ticket,  it  was 
seized  and  opened  by  Flashman,  or  some  other  of  the  standers-by. 
But  no  great  favorite  is  drawn  until  it  comes  to  the  Tadpole's 
turn,  and  he  shuffles  up  and  draws,  and  tries  to  make  off,  but 
is  caught,  and  his  ticket  is  opened  like  the  rest. 

"Here  you  are!  Wanderer!  the  third  favorite!"  shouts  the 
opener. 

"I  say,  just  give  me  my  ticket,  please,"  remonstrates  Tadpole. 

"Hullo,  don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  breaks  in  Flashman.  "What '11 
you  sell  Wanderer  for,  now  ?" 

[174] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"I  don't  want  to  sell,"  rejoins  Tadpole. 

"Oh,  don't  you!  Now  listen,  you  young  fool — you  don't 
know  anything  about  it;  the  horse  is  no  use  to  you.  He  won't 
win,  but  I  want  him  as  a  hedge.  Now  I'll  give  you  half-a-crown 
for  him."  Tadpole  holds  out,  but  between  threats  and  cajoleries 
at  length  sells  half  for  one-shilling-and-six-pence,  about  a  fifth  of 
its  fair  market  value;  however,  he  is  glad  to  realize  anything, 
and  as  he  wisely  remarks:  "Wanderer  mayn't  win,  and  the  tizzy 
is  safe  anyhow." 

East  presently  comes  up  and  draws  a  blank.  Soon  after 
comes  Tom's  turn;  his  ticket,  like  the  others,  is  seized  and 
opened.  "Here  you  are  then,"  shouts  the  opener,  holding  it 
up,  "Harkaway!  By  Jove,  Flashey,  your  young  friend's  in 
luck." 

"Give  me  the  ticket,"  says  Flashman,  with  an  oath,  leaning 
across  the  table  with  open  hand,  and  his  face  black  with  rage. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  it?"  replies  the  opener,  not  a  bad  fellow 
at  the  bottom,  and  no  admirer  of  Flashman's.  "Here,  Brown, 
catch  hold,"  and  he  hands  the  ticket  to  Tom,  who  pockets  it; 
whereupon  Flashman  makes  for  the  door  at  once,  that  Tom  and 
the  ticket  may  not  escape,  and  there  keeps  watch  until  the  draw- 
ing is  over  and  all  the  boys  are  gone,  except  the  sporting  set  of 
five  or  six,  who  stay  to  compare  books,  make  bets  and  so  on, 
Tom,  who  doesn't  choose  to  move  while  Flashman  is  at  the  door, 
and  East,  who  stays  by  his  friend,  anticipating  trouble. 

The  sporting  set  now  gathered  round  Tom.  Public  opinion 
wouldn't  allow  them  actually  to  rob  him  of  his  ticket,  but  any 
humbug  or  intimidation  by  which  he  could  be  driven  to  sell  the 
whole  or  part  at  an  under  value  was  lawful. 

"Now,  young  Brown,  come,  what '11  you  sell  me  Harkaway 
for .?  I  hear  he  isn't  going  to  start.  I'll  give  you  five  shillings 
for  him,"  begins  the  boy  who  had  opened  the  ticket.  Tom,  re- 
membering his  good  deed,  and  moreover  in  his  forlorn  state  wish- 
ing to  make  a  friend,  is  about  to  accept  the  offer,  when  another 

I>75] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

cries  out:  "I'll  give  you  seven  shillings."  Tom  hesitated  and 
looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"No,  no!"  said  Flashman,  pushing  in,  "leave  me  to  deal  w^ith 
him;  we'll  draw^  lots  for  it  afterward.  Now,  sir,  you  know  me — 
you'll  sell  Harkaway  to  us  for  five  shillings,  or  you'll  repent  it." 

"I  won't  sell  a  bit  of  him,"  answered  Tom,  shortly. 

"You  hear  that  now!"  said  Flashman,  turning  to  the  others. 
"He's  the  coxiest  young  blackguard  in  the  house — I  always  told 
you  so.  We're  to  have  all  the  trouble  and  risk  of  getting  up  the 
lotteries  for  the  benefit  of  such  fellows  as  he." 

Flashman  forgets  to  explain  what  risk  they  ran,  but  he  speaks 
to  willing  ears.  Gambling  makes  boys  selfish  and  cruel  as  well 
as  men. 

"That's  true — we  always  draw  blanks,"  cried  one.  "Now, 
sir,  you  shall  sell  half,  at  any  rate." 

"I  won't,"  said  Tom,  flushing  up  to  his  hair,  and  lumping 
them  all  in  his  mind  with  his  sworn  enemy. 

"Very  well,  then,  let's  roast  him,"  cried  Flashman,  and  catches 
hold  of  Tom  by  the  collar;  one  or  two  boys  hesitate,  but  the  rest 
join  in.  East  seizes  Tom's  arm  and  tries  to  pull  him  away,  but 
is  knocked  back  by  one  of  the  boys,  and  Tom  is  dragged  along, 
struggling.  His  shoulders  are  pushed  against  the  mantelpiece, 
and  he  is  held  by  main  force  before  the  fire,  Flashman  drawing 
his  trousers  tight  by  way  of  extra  torture.  Poor  East,  in  more 
pain  even  than  Tom,  suddenly  thinks  of  Diggs,  and  darts  off  to 
find  him.  "Will  you  sell  him  for  ten  shillings.?"  says  one  boy 
who  is  relenting. 

Tom  only  answers  by  groans  and  struggles. 

"I  say,  Flashey,  he  has  had  enough,"  says  the  same  boy,  drop- 
ping the  arm  he  holds. 

"No,  no;  another  turn  '11  do  it,"  answers  Flashman.  But  poor 
Tom  is  done  already,  turns  deadly  pale,  and  his  head  falls  forward 
on  his  breast,  just  as  Diggs,  in  frantic  excitement,  rushes  into  the 
hall  with  East  at  his  heels. 

[176] 


"ARE  YOU  MUCH  HURT,   DEAR  OLD   BOY  r" 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"You  cowardly  brutes!"  is  all  he  can  say,  as  he  catches  Tom 
from  them  and  supports  him  to  the  hall  table.  "Good  God! 
he's  dying.     Here,  get  some  cold  water — run  for  the  housekeeper." 

Flashman  and  one  or  two  others  slink  away;  the  rest,  ashamed 
and  sorry,  bend  over  Tom  or  run  for  water,  while  East  darts  off 
for  the  housekeeper.  Water  comes,  and  they  throw  it  on  his 
hands  and  face,  and  he  begins  to  come  to.  "Mother!" — the 
words  came  feebly  and  slowly — "it's  very  cold  to-night."  Poor 
old  Diggs  is  blubbering  like  a  child.  "Where  am  IT'  goes  on 
Tom,  opening  his  eyes.  "Ah!  I  remember  now,"  and  he  shut 
his  eyes  again  and  groaned. 

"I  say,"  is  whispered,  "we  can't  do  any  good,  and  the  house- 
keeper will  be  here  in  a  minute,"  and  all  but  one  steal  away;  he 
stays  with  Diggs,  silent  and  sorrowful,  and  fans  Tom's  face. 

The  housekeeper  comes  in  with  strong  salts,  and  Tom  soon 
recovers  enough  to  sit  up.  There  is  a  smell  of  burning;  she  ex- 
amines his  clothes,  and  looks  up  inquiringly.     The  boys  are  silent. 

"How  did  he  come  so  ?"     No  answer. 

"There's  been  some  bad  work  here,"  she  adds,  looking  very 
serious,  "and  I  shall  speak  to  the  Doctor  about  it."  Still  no 
answer. 

"Hadn't  we  better  carry  him  to  the  sick-room  .?"  suggests  Diggs. 

"Oh,  I  can  walk  now,"  says  Tom;  and,  supported  by  East  and 
the  housekeeper,  goes  to  the  sick-room.  The  boy  who  held  his 
ground  is  soon  among  the  rest,  who  are  all  in  fear  of  their  lives. 
"  Did  he  peach  .f"'     "  Does  she  know  about  it  .f"' 

"Not  a  word — he's  a  stanch  little  fellow."  And,  pausing  a 
moment,  he  adds,  "I'm  sick  of  this  work;  what  brutes  we've 
been!" 

Meantime,  Tom  is  stretched  on  the  sofa  in  the  housekeeper's 
room,  with  East  by  his  side,  while  she  gets  wine  and  water  and 
other  restoratives. 

"Are  you  much  hurt,  dear  old  boy  ?"  whispers  East. 

"Only  the  back  of  my  legs,"  answers  Tom.     They  are,  indeed, 

[179] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

badly  scorched,  and  part  of  his  trousers  burned  through.  But 
soon  he  is  in  bed  with  cold  bandages.  At  first  he  feels  broken, 
and  thinks  of  writing  home  and  getting  taken  away;  and  the 
verse  of  a  hymn  he  had  learned  years  ago  sings  through  his  head, 
and  he  goes  to  sleep,  murmuring: 

"Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 
And  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

But  after  a  sound  night's  rest  the  old  boy-spirit  comes  back 
again.  East  comes  in  reporting  that  the  whole  house  is  with 
him,  and  he  forgets  everything  except  their  old  resolve,  never  to 
be  beaten  by  that  bully  Flashman. 

Not  a  word  could  the  housekeeper  extract  from  either  of  them, 
and  though  the  Doctor  knew  all  that  she  knew  that  morning,  he 
never  knew  any  more. 

I  trust  and  believe  that  such  scenes  are  not  possible  now  at 
school,  and  that  lotteries  and  betting-books  have  gone  out;  but 
I  am  writing  of  schools  as  they  were  in  our  time,  and  must  give 
the  evil  with  the  good. 


SCHOOL    DAYS 


CHAPTER  IX 

A   CHAPTER   OF   ACCIDENTS 


'Wherein  I  [speak]  of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field, 
Of  hairbreadth  'scapes." — Shakespeare. 

HEN  Tom  came  back  into  school  after  a  couple 
of  days  in  the  sick-room,  he  found  matters 
much  changed  for  the  better,  as  East  had  led 
him  to  expect.  Flashman's  brutality  had  dis- 
gusted most  even  of  his  intimate  friends,  and 
his  cowardice  had  once  more  been  made  plain 
to  the  house;  for  Diggs  had  encountered  him 
on  the  morning  after  the  lottery,  and,  after  high  words  on  both 
sides,  had  struck  him,  and  the  blow  was  not  returned.  However, 
Flashey  was  not  unused  to  this  sort  of  thing,  and  had  lived  through 
as  awkward  affairs  before,  and,  as  Diggs  had  said,  fed  and  toadied 
himself  back  into  favor  again.  Two  or  three  of  the  boys  who  had 
helped  to  roast  Tom  came  up  and  begged  his  pardon,  and  thanked 
him  for  not  telling  anything.     Morgan  sent  for  him,  and  was 

[.8i] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Inclined  to  take  the  matter  up  warmly,  but  Tom  begged  him  not 
to  do  it;  to  which  he  agreed,  on  Tom's  promising  to  come  to  him 
at  once  in  future — a  promise  which  I  regret  to  say  he  didn't  keep. 
Tom  kept  Harkaway  all  to  himself,  and  won  the  second  prize  in 
the  lottery,  some  thirty  shillings,  which  he  and  East  contrived  to 
spend  in  about  three  days,  in  the  purchase  of  pictures  for  their 
study,  two  new  bats  and  a  cricket-ball,  all  the  best  that  could  be 
got,  and  a  supper  of  sausages,  kidneys,  and  beefsteak  pies  to  all 
the  rebels.  Light  come,  light  go;  they  wouldn't  have  been  com- 
fortable with  money  in  their  pockets  in  the  middle  of  the  half. 

The  embers  of  Flashman's  wrath,  however,  were  still  smoulder- 
ing, and  burst  out  every  now  and  then  in  sly  blows  and  taunts, 
and  they  both  felt  that  they  hadn't  quite  done  with  him  yet.  It 
wasn't  long,  however,  before  the  last  act  of  that  drama  came,  and 
with  it,  the  end  of  bullying  for  Tom  and  East  at  Rugby.  They 
now  often  stole  out  into  the  hall  at  nights,  incited  thereto,  partly 
by  the  hope  of  finding  Diggs  there  and  having  a  talk  with  him, 
partly  by  the  excitement  of  doing  something  which  was  against 
rules;  for,  sad  to  say,  both  of  our  youngsters,  since  their  loss  of 
character  for  steadiness  in  their  form,  had  got  into  the  habit  of 
doing  things  which  were  forbidden,  as  a  matter  of  adventure;  just 
in  the  same  way,  I  should  fancy,  as  men  fall  into  smuggling,  and 
for  the  same  sort  of  reasons.  Thoughtlessness  in  the  first  place. 
It  never  occurred  to  them  to  consider  why  such  and  such  rules 
were  laid  down;  the  reason  was  nothing  to  them;  and  they  only 
looked  upon  rules  as  a  sort  of  challenge  from  the  rule-makers, 
which  it  would  be  rather  bad  pluck  in  them  not  to  accept;  and 
then  again,  in  the  lower  parts  of  the  school  they  hadn't  enough  to 
do.  The  work  of  the  form  they  could  manage  to  get  through 
pretty  easily,  keeping  a  good  enough  place  to  get  their  regular 
yearly  remove;  and  not  having  much  ambition  beyond  this,  their 
whole  superfluous  steam  was  available  for  games  and  scrapes. 
Now,  one  rule  of  the  house  which  it  was  a  daily  pleasure  of  all 
such  boys  to  break,  was  that  after  supper  all  fags,  except  the  three 

[1S2] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

on  duty  in  the  passages,  should  remain  in  their  own  studies  until 
nine  o'clock;  and,  if  caught  about  the  passages  or  hall,  or  in  one 
another's  studies,  they  were  liable  to  punishments  or  caning.  The 
rule  was  stricter  than  its  observance;  for  most  of  the  sixth  spent 
their  evenings  in  the  fifth-form  room,  where  the  library  was,  and 
the  lessons  were  learned  in  common,  f^ery  now  and  then,  how- 
ever, a  praepostor  would  be  seized  with  a  fit  of  district  visiting, 
and  would  make  a  tour  of  the  passages  and  hall  and  the  fags' 
studies.  Then,  if  the  owner  were  entertaining  a  friend  or  two, 
the  first  kick  at  the  door  and  ominous  "Open,  here,"  had  the  eff^ect 
of  the  shadow  of  a  hawk  over  a  chicken-yard;  every  one  cut  to 
cover — one  small  boy  diving  under  the  sofa,  another  under  the 
table,  while  the  owner  would  hastily  pull  down  a  book  or  two  and 
open  them,  and  cry  out  in  a  meek  voice,  "Hullo,  who's  there?" 
casting  an  anxious  eye  round  to  see  that  no  protruding  leg  or  elbow 
could  betray  the  hidden  boys.  "Open,  sir,  directly;  it's  Snooks." 
"Oh,  I'm  very  sorry;  I  didn't  know  it  was  you.  Snooks";  and 
then,  with  well-feigned  zeal,  the  door  would  be  opened,  young 
hopeful  praying  that  that  beast  Snooks  mightn't  have  heard  the 
scuffle  caused  by  his  coming.  If  a  study  was  empty.  Snooks  pro- 
ceeded to  draw  the  passages  and  hall  to  find  the  truants. 

Well,  one  evening,  in  forbidden  hours,  Tom  and  East  were  in 
the  hall.  They  occupied  the  seats  before  the  fire  nearest  the 
door,  while  Diggs  sprawled  as  usual  before  the  farther  fire.  He 
was  busy  with  a  copy  of  verses,  and  East  and  Tom  were  chatting 
together  in  whispers  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  and  splicing  a  favorite 
old  fives'-bat  which  had  sprung.  Presently  a  step  came  down 
the  bottom  passage;  they  listened  a  moment,  assured  themselves 
that  it  wasn't  a  praepostor,  and  then  went  on  w^ith  their  work,  and 
the  door  swung  open,  and  in  walked  Flashman.  He  didn't  see 
Diggs,  and  thought  it  a  good  chance  to  keep  his  hand  in;  and  as 
the  boys  didn't  move  for  him,  struck  one  of  them,  to  make  them 
get  out  of  his  way. 

"What's  that  for?"  growled  the  assaulted  one. 

[  183  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Because  I  choose.  You've  no  business  here;  go  to  your 
study." 

"You  can't  send  us." 

"Can't  I  ?  Then  I'll  thrash  you  if  you  stay,"  said  Flashman, 
savagely. 

"I  say,  you  two,"  said  Diggs,  from  the  end  of  the  hall,  rous- 
ing up  and  resting  himself  on  his  elbow,  "you'll  never  get  rid  of 
that  fellow  till  you  lick  him.  Go  in  at  him,  both  of  you — I'll  see 
fair  play." 

Flashman  was  taken  aback,  and  retreated  two  steps.  East 
looked  at  Tom.  "Shall  we  try.?"  said  he.  "Yes,"  said  Tom, 
desperately.  So  the  two  advanced  on  Flashman,  with  clenched 
fists  and  beating  hearts.  They  were  about  up  to  his  shoulder, 
but  tough  boys  of  their  age,  and  in  perfect  training:  while  he, 
though  strong  and  big,  was  in  poor  condition,  from  his  monstrous 
habit  of  stuffing  and  want  of  exercise.  Coward  as  he  was,  how- 
ever, Flashman  couldn't  swallow  such  an  insult  as  this;  besides, 
he  was  confident  of  having  easy  work,  and  so  faced  the  boys, 
saying,  "You  impudent  young  blackguards!" — Before  he  could 
finish  his  abuse,  they  rushed  in  on  him,  and  began  pummelling 
at  all  of  him  which  they  could  reach.  He  hit  out  wildly  and 
savagely,  but  the  full  force  of  his  blows  didn't  tell,  they  were  too 
near  him.  It  was  long  odds,  though,  in  point  of  strength,  and  in 
another  minute  Tom  went  spinning  backward  over  a  form,  and 
Flashman  turned  to  demolish  East,  with  a  savage  grin.  But  now 
Diggs  jumped  down  from  the  table  on  which  he  had  seated  him- 
self. "Stop  there,"  shouted  he;  "the  round's  over — half-minute 
time  allowed." 

"What  the  is  it  to  you  .?"  faltered  Flashman,  who  began 

to  lose  heart. 

"I'm  going  to  see  fair,  I  tell  you,"  said  Diggs,  with  a  grin,  and 
snapping  his  great  red  fingers;  "'tain't  fair  for  you  to  be  fighting 
one  of  them  at  a  time.     Are  you  ready,  Brown  ?     Time's  up." 

The  small  boys  rushed  in  again.     Closing  they  saw  was  their 

[184] 


IT'S   ALL    SHAM— HE'S    ONLY   AFRAID    TO    FIGHT   IT 

OUT" 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

best  chance,  and  Flashman  was  wilder  and  more  flurried  than 
ever:  he  caught  East  by  the  throat,  and  tried  to  force  him  back 
on  the  iron-bound  table;  Tom  grasped  his  waist,  and,  remember- 
ing the  old  throw  he  had  learned  in  the  vale  from  Harry  Winburn, 
crooked  his  leg  inside  Flashman's,  and  threw  his  whole  weight 
forward.  The  three  tottered  for  a  moment,  and  then  over  they 
went  onto  the  floor,  Flashman  striking  his  head  against  a  form 
in  the  hall. 

The  two  youngsters  sprang  to  their  legs,  but  he  lay  there  still. 
They  began  to  be  frightened.  Tom  stooped  down,  and  then  cried 
out,  scared  out  of  his  wits:  "He's  bleeding  awfully;  come  here, 
5^ast,  Diggs — he's  dying!" 

*'Not  he,"  said  Diggs,  getting  leisurely  off  the  table;  "it's  all 
sham — he's  only  afraid  to  fight  it  out." 

East  was  as  frightened  as  Tom.  Diggs  lifted  Flashman's 
head,  and  he  groaned. 

"What's  the  matter  .f"'  shouted  Diggs. 

"My  skull's  fractured,"  sobbed  Flashman. 

"Oh,  let  me  run  for  the  housekeeper,"  cried  Tom.  "What 
shall  we  do  r' 

"Fiddlesticks!  it's  nothing  but  the  skin  broken,"  said  the 
relentless  Diggs,  feeling  his  head.  "Cold  water  and  a  bit  of 
rag's  all  he'll  want." 

"Let  me  go,"  said  Flashman,  surlily,  sitting  up;  "I  don't 
want  your  help." 

"We're  really  very  sorry,"  began  East. 

"Hang  your  sorrow,"  answered  Flashman,  holding  his  handker- 
chief to  the  place;  "you  shall  pay  for  this,  I  can  tell  you— both 
of  you."     And  he  walked  out  of  the  hall. 

"He  can't  be  very  bad,"  said  Tom,  with  a  deep  sigh,  much 
relieved  to  see  his  enemy  march  so  well. 

"Not  he,"  said  Diggs,  "and  you'll  see  you  won't  be  troubled 
with  him  any  more.  But,  I  say,  your  head's  broken,  too — your 
collar  is  covered  with  blood." 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Is  it,  though?"  said  Tom,  putting  up  his  hand.  "I  didn't 
now  It. 

"Well,  mop  it  up,  or  you'll  have  your  jacket  spoiled.  And 
you  have  got  a  nasty  eye,  Scud;  you'd  better  go  and  bathe  it  well 
in  cold  water." 

"Cheap  enough,  too,  if  we've  done  with  our  old  friend  Flashey," 
said  East,  as  they  made  off  up-stairs  to  bathe  their  wounds. 

They  had  done  with  Flashman  in  one  sense,  for  he  never  laid 
finger  on  either  of  them  again;  but  whatever  harm  a  spiteful 
heart  and  venomous  tongue  could  do  them  he  took  care  should 
be  done.  Only  throw  dirt  enough,  and  some  of  it  is  sure  to  stick; 
and  so  it  was  with  the  fifth  form  and  the  bigger  boys  in  general, 
with  whom  he  associated  more  or  less,  and  they  not  at  all.  Flash- 
man  managed  to  get  Tom  and  East  into  disfavor,  which  did  not 
wear  off  for  some  time  after  the  author  of  it  had  disappeared  from 
the  School  world.  This  event,  much  prayed  for  by  the  small 
fry  in  general,  took  place  a  few  months  after  the  above  encounter. 
One  fine  summer  evening  Flashman  had  been  regaling  himself 
on  gin-punch,  at  Brownsover;  and  having  exceeded  his  usual 
limits,  started  home  uproarious.  He  fell  in  with  a  friend  or  two 
coming  back  from  bathing,  proposed  a  glass  of  beer,  to  which 
they  assented,  the  weather  being  hot,  and  they  thirsty  souls,  and 
unaware  of  the  quantity  of  drink  which  Flashman  had  already 
on  board.  The  short  result  was,  that  Flashey  became  beastly 
drunk;  they  tried  to  get  him  along,  but  couldn't;  so  they  chartered 
a  hurdle  and  two  men  to  carry  him.  One  of  the  masters  came 
upon  them,  and  they  naturally  enough  fled.  The  flight  of  the  rest 
raised  the  master's  suspicions,  and  the  good  angel  of  the  fags  in- 
cited him  to  examine  the  freight,  and,  after  examination,  to  con- 
voy the  hurdle  himself  up  to  the  School-house;  and  the  Doctor, 
who  had  long  had  his  eye  on  Flashman,  arranged  for  his  with- 
drawal next  morning. 

The  evil  that  men  and  boys,  too,  do,  lives  after  them:  Flash- 
man  was  gone,  but  our  boys,  as  hinted  above,  still  felt  the  effects 

[■88] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

of  his  hate.  Besides,  they  had  been  the  movers  of  the  strike 
against  unlawful  fagging.  The  cause  was  righteous — the  result 
had  been  triumphant  to  a  great  extent;  but  the  best  of  the  fifth, 
even  those  who  had  never  fagged  the  small  boys,  or  had  given 
up  the  practice  cheerfully,  couldn't  help  feeling  a  small  grudge 
against  the  first  rebels.  After  all,  their  form  had  been  defied — 
on  just  grounds  no  doubt;  so  just,  indeed,  that  they  had  at  once 
acknowledged  the  wrong  and  remained  passive  in  the  strife: 
had  they  sided  with  Flashman  and  his  set,  the  rebels  must  have 
given  way  at  once.  They  couldn't  help,  on  the  whole,  being  glad 
that  they  had  so  acted,  and  that  the  resistance  had  been  success- 
ful against  such  of  their  own  form  as  had  shown  fight;  they  felt 
that  law  and  order  had  gained  thereby,  but  the  ringleaders  they 
couldn't  quite  pardon  at  once.  "Confoundedly  coxy  those  young 
rascals  will  get,  if  we  don't  mind,"  was  the  general  feeling. 

So  it  is,  and  must  be  always,  my  dear  boys.  If  the  Angel 
Gabriel  were  to  come  down  from  heaven,  and  head  a  successful 
rise  against  the  most  abominable  and  unrighteous  vested  interest, 
which  this  poor  old  world  groans  under,  he  would  most  certainly 
lose  his  character  for  many  years,  probably  for  centuries,  not  only 
with  upholders  of  said  vested  interest,  but  with  the  respectable 
mass  of  the  people  whom  he  had  delivered.  They  wouldn't  ask 
him  to  dinner,  or  let  their  names  appear  with  his  in  the  papers; 
they  would  be  very  careful  how  they  spoke  of  him  in  the  Palaver, 
or  at  their  clubs.  What  can  we  expect,  then,  when  we  have  only 
poor,  gallant,  blundering  men  like  Kossuth,  Garibaldi,  Mazzini, 
and  righteous  causes  which  do  not  triumph  in  their  hands;  men 
who  have  holes  enough  in  their  armor,  God  knows,  easy  to  be 
hit  by  respectabilities  sitting  in  their  lounging-chairs,  and  having 
large  balances  at  their  bankers  ^  But  you  are  brave,  gallant  boys 
who  hate  easy-chairs,  and  have  no  balances  or  bankers.  You 
only  want  to  have  your  heads  set  straight  to  take  the  right  side: 
so  bear  in  mind  that  majorities,  especially  respectable  ones,  are 
nine  times  out  of  ten  in  the  wrong;   and  that  if  you  see  a  man  or 

[189] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

boy  striving  earnestly  on  the  weak  side,  however  wrong-headed 
or  blundering  he  may  be,  you  are  not  to  go  and  join  the  cry 
against  him.  If  you  can't  join  him  and  help  him,  and  make  him 
wiser,  at  any  rate  remember  that  he  has  found  something  in  the 
world  which  he  will  fight  and  suffer  for,  which  is  just  what  you 
have  got  to  do  for  yourselves;  and  so  think  and  speak  of  him 
tenderly. 

So  East  and  Tom,  the  Tadpole,  and  one  or  two  more,  became 
a  sort  of  young  Ishmaelites,  their  hands  against  every  one,  and 
every  one's  hand  against  them.  It  has  been  already  told  how 
they  got  to  war  with  the  masters  and  the  fifth  form,  and  with  the 
sixth  it  was  much  the  same.  They  saw  the  praepostors  cowed 
by  or  joining  with  the  fifth,  and  shirking  their  own  duties;  so 
they  didn't  respect  them,  and  rendered  no  willing  obedience.  It 
had  been  one  thing  to  clean  out  studies  for  sons  of  heroes  like 
old  Brooke,  but  quite  another  to  do  the  like  for  Snooks  and  Green, 
who  had  never  faced  a  good  scrummage  at  football,  and  couldn't 
keep  the  passages  in  order  at  night.  So  they  only  slurred  through 
their  fagging  just  well  enough  to  escape  a  licking,  and  not  always 
that,  and  got  the  character  of  sulky,  unwilling  fags.  In  the 
fifth-form  room,  after  supper,  when  such  matters  were  often  dis- 
cussed and  arranged,  their  names  were  forever  coming  up. 

"I  say,  Green,"  Snooks  began  one  night,  "isn't  that  new  boy, 
Harrison,  your  fag  ?" 

"Yes;    why.?" 

"Oh,  I  know  something  of  him  at  home,  and  should  like  to 
excuse  him — will  you  swop  .?" 

"Who  will  you  give  me  .?" 

"Well,  let's  see;  there's  Willis,  Johnson — no,  that  won't  do. 
Yes,  I  have  it — there's  young  East;    I'll  give  you  him." 

"Don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it?"  replied  Green.  "I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do — I'll  give  you  two  for  Willis  if  you  like." 

"Who  then?"  asks  Snooks. 

"Hall  and  Brown." 

[190] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"Wouldn't  have  'em  as  a  gift." 

"Better  than  East,  though;  for  they  ain't  quite  so  sharp,"  said 
Green,  getting  up  and  leaning  his  back  against  the  mantelpiece — 
he  wasn't  a  bad  fellow,  and  couldn't  help  not  being  able  to  put 
down  the  unruly  fifth  form.  His  eye  twinkled  as  he  went  on, 
"Did  I  ever  tell  you  how  the  young  vagabond  sold  me  last  half?" 

"No;   how?" 

"Well,  he  never  half  cleaned  my  study  out,  only  just  stuck  the 
candlesticks  in  the  cupboard,  and  swept  the  crumbs  onto  the 
floor.  So  at  last  I  was  mortal  angry,  and  had  him  up,  made  him 
go  through  the  whole  performance  under  my  eyes:  the  dust  the 
young  scamp  made  nearly  choked  me,  and  showed  that  he  hadn't 
swept  the  carpet  before.  Well,  when  it  was  all  finished,  'Now, 
young  gentleman,'  says  I,  'mind,  I  expect  this  to  be  done  every 
morning,  floor  swept,  table-cloth  taken  off  and  shaken,  and  every- 
thing dusted.'  'Very  well,'  grunts  he.  Not  a  bit  of  it,  though — • 
I  was  quite  sure  in  a  day  or  two  that  he  never  took  the  table- 
cloth off  even.  So  I  laid  a  trap  for  him:  I  tore  up  some  paper 
and  put  half  a  dozen  bits  on  my  table  one  night,  and  the  cloth 
over  them  as  usual.  Next  morning,  after  breakfast,  up  I  came, 
pulled  off  the  cloth,  and  sure  enough  there  was  the  paper,  which 
fluttered  down  on  to  the  floor.  I  was  in  a  towering  rage.  'I've 
got  you  now,'  thought  I,  and  sent  for  him,  while  I  got  out  my 
cane.  Up  he  came  as  cool  as  you  please,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  '  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  shake  my  table-cloth  every  morn- 
ing ?'  roared  I.  'Yes,'  says  he.  'Did  you  do  it  this  morning?' 
'Yes.'  'You  young  liar!  I  put  these  pieces  of  paper  on  the 
table  last  night,  and  if  you'd  taken  the  table-cloth  off  you'd  have 
seen  them,  so  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  good  licking.'  Then 
my  youngster  takes  one  hand  out  of  his  pocket,  and  just 
stoops  down  and  picks  up  two  of  the  bits  of  paper,  and  holds 
them  out  to  me.  There  was  written  on  each,  in  great  round 
text,  '  Harry  East,  his  mark.'  The  young  rogue  had  found  my 
trap  out,  taken  away  my  paper,  and  put  some  of  his  there,  every 

[■9>] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

bit  earmarked.  I'd  a  great  mind  to  lick  him  for  his  impudence, 
but  after  all  one  has  no  right  to  be  laying  traps,  so  I  didn't.  Of 
course  I  was  at  his  mercy  till  the  end  of  the  half,  and  in  his  weeks 
my  study  was  so  frowsy  I  couldn't  sit  in  it." 

"They  spoil  one's  things  so,  too,"  chimed  in  a  third  boy. 
"Hall  and  Brown  were  night-fags  last  week:  I  called  fag  and 
gave  them  my  candlesticks  to  clean;  away  they  went,  and  didn't 
appear  again.  When  they'd  had  time  enough  to  clean  them 
three  times  over,  I  went  out  to  look  after  them.  They  weren't  in 
the  passages,  so  down  I  went  into  the  hall,  where  I  heard  music, 
and  there  I  found  them  sitting  on  the  table,  listening  to  Johnson, 
who  was  playing  the  flute,  and  my  candlesticks  stuck  between  the 
bars  well  into  the  fire,  red-hot,  clean  spoiled;  they've  never  stood 
straight  since,  and  I  must  get  some  more.  However,  I  gave  them 
both  a  good  licking,  that's  one  comfort." 

Such  were  the  sort  of  scrapes  they  were  always  getting  into: 
and  so,  partly  by  their  own  faults,  partly  from  circumstances, 
partly  from  the  faults  of  others,  they  found  themselves  outlaws, 
ticket-of-leave  men,  or  what  you  will  in  that  line:  in  short,  dan- 
gerous parties,  and  lived  the  sort  of  hand-to-mouth,  wild,  reckless 
life  which  such  parties  generally  have  to  put  up  with.  Neverthe- 
less, they  never  quite  lost  favor  with  young  Brooke,  who  was  now 
the  cock  of  the  house,  and  just  getting  into  the  sixth,  and  Diggs 
stuck  to  them  like  a  man,  and  gave  them  store  of  good  advice, 
by  which  they  never  in  the  least  profited. 

And  even  after  the  house  mended,  and  law  and  order  had  been 
restored,  which  soon  happened  after  young  Brooke  and  Diggs 
got  into  the  sixth,  they  couldn't  easily  or  at  once  return  into  the 
paths  of  steadiness,  and  many  of  the  old  wild  out-of-bounds 
habits  stuck  to  them  as  firmly  as  ever.  While  they  had  been 
quite  little  boys,  the  scrapes  they  got  into  in  the  school  hadn't 
much  mattered  to  any  one;  but  now  they  were  in  the  upper  school, 
all  wrong-doers  from  which  were  sent  up  straight  to  the  Doctor 
at  once;    so  they  began  to  come  under  his  notice;    and  as  they 

[192] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

were  a  sort  of  leaders  in  a  small  way  among  their  own  contem- 
poraries, his  eye,  which  was  everywhere,  was  upon  them. 

It  was  a  toss-up  whether  they  turned  out  well  or  ill,  and  so  they 
were  just  the  boys  who  caused  most  anxiety  to  such  a  master. 
You  have  been  told  of  the  first  occasion  on  which  they  were  sent 
up  to  the  Doctor,  and  the  remembrance  of  it  was  so  pleasant  that 
they  had  much  less  fear  of  him  than  most  boys  of  their  standing 
had.  "It's  all  his  look,"  Tom  used  to  say  to  East,  "that  frightens 
fellows:  don't  you  remember,  he  never  said  anything  to  us  my 
first  half-year,  for  being  an  hour  late  for  locking-up  .^" 

The  next  time  that  Tom  came  before  him,  however,  the  inter- 
view was  of  a  very  difi'erent  kind.  It  happened  just  about  the 
time  at  which  we  have  now  arrived,  and  was  the  first  of  a  series 
of  scrapes  into  which  our  hero  managed  now  to  tumble. 

The  river  Avon  at  Rugby  is  a  slow  and  not  very  clear  stream, 
in  which  chub,  dace,  roach,  and  other  coarse  fish  are  (or  were) 
plentiful  enough,  together  with  a  fair  sprinkling  of  small  jack, 
but  no  fish  worth  sixpence  either  for  sport  or  food.  It  is,  how- 
ever, a  capital  river  for  bathing,  as  it  has  many  nice,  small  pools 
and  several  good  reaches  for  swimming,  all  within  about  a  mile 
of  one  another,  and  at  an  easy  twenty  minutes'  walk  from  the 
school.  This  mile  of  water  is  rented,  or  used  to  be  rented,  for 
bathing  purposes,  by  the  trustees  of  the  school,  for  the  boys. 
The  foot-path  to  Brownsover  crosses  the  river  by  "the  Planks," 
a  curious  old  single-plank  bridge,  running  for  fifty  or  sixty  yards 
into  the  flat  meadows  on  each  side  of  the  river — for  in  the  winter 
there  are  frequent  floods.'  Above  the  Planks  were  the  bathing 
places  for  the  smaller  boys;  Sleath's,  the  first  bathing  place  where 
all  new  boys  had  to  begin,  until  they  had  proved  to  the  bathing 
men  (three  steady  individuals  who  were  paid  to  attend  daily 
through  the  summer  to  prevent  accidents)  that  they  could  swim 
pretty  decently,  when  they  were  allowed  to  go  on  to  Anstey's, 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  below.  Here  there  was  a  hole 
about  six  feet  deep  and  twelve  (eet  across,  over  which  the  pufiing 

[193] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

urchins  struggled  to  the  opposite  side,  and  thought  no  small  beer 
of  themselves  for  having  been  out  of  their  depths.  Below  the 
Planks  came  larger  and  deeper  holes,  the  first  of  M^hich  was 
Wratislaw's,  and  the  last  Swift's,  a  famous  hole,  ten  or  twelve  feet 
deep  in  parts,  and  thirty  yards  across,  from  which  there  was  a  fine 
swimming  reach  right  down  to  the  Mill.  Swift's  was  reserved 
for  the  sixth  and  fifth  forms,  and  had  a  spring-board  and  two 
sets  of  steps;  the  others  had  one  set  of  steps  each,  and  were  used 
indifferently  by  all  the  lower  boys,  though  each  house  addicted 
itself  more  to  one  hole  than  to  another.  The  School-house  at  this 
time  affected  Wratislaw's  hole,  and  Tom  and  East,  who  had 
learned  to  swim  like  fishes,  were  to  be  found  there  as  regular  as 
the  clock  through  the  summer,  always  twice,  and  often  three 
times  a  day. 

Now  the  boys  either  had,  or  fancied  they  had,  a  right  also  to 
fish  at  their  pleasure  over  the  whole  of  this  part  of  the  river,  and 
would  not  understand  that  the  right  (if  any)  only  extended  to  the 
Rugby  side.  As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  gentleman  who  owned 
the  opposite  bank,  after  allowing  it  for  some  time  without  inter- 
ference, had  ordered  his  keepers  not  to  let  the  boys  fish  on  his 
side;  the  consequence  of  which  had  been,  that  there  had  been 
first  wranglings  and  then  fights  between  the  keepers  and  boys; 
and  so  keen  had  the  quarrel  become,  that  the  landlord  and  his 
keepers,  after  a  ducking  had  been  inflicted  on  one  of  the  latter, 
and  a  fierce  fight  ensued  thereon,  had  been  up  to  the  great  school 
at  calling-over  to  identify  the  delinquents,  and  it  was  all  the 
Doctor  himself  and  five  or  six  masters  could  do  to  keep  the  peace. 
Not  even  his  authority  could  prevent  the  hissing;  and  so  strong 
was  the  feeling,  that  the  four  pr.epostors  of  the  week  walked  up 
the  school  with  their  canes,  shouting  "S-s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-e!"  at  the 
top  of  their  voices.  However,  the  chief  offenders  for  the  time 
were  flogged  and  kept  in  bounds,  but  the  victorious  party  had 
brought  a  nice  hornets'  nest  about  their  ears.  The  landlord  was 
hissed  at  the  school-gates   as  he  rode  past,  and  when  he  charged 

[194] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

his  horse  at  the  mob  of  boys,  and  tried  to  thrash  them  with  his 
whip,  was  driven  back  by  cricket-bats  and  wickets,  and  pursued 
with  pebbles  and  fives'-balls;  while  the  wretched  keepers'  Hves 
were  a  burthen  to  them,  from  having  to  watch  the  waters  so  closely. 

The  School-house  boys  of  Tom's  standing,  one  and  all,  as  a 
protest  against  this  tyranny  and  cutting  short  of  their  lawful 
amusements,  took  to  fishing  in  all  ways,  and  especially  by  means 
of  night-lines.  The  little  tackle-maker  at  the  bottom  of  the  town 
would  soon  have  made  his  fortune  had  the  rage  lasted,  and  several 
of  the  barbers  began  to  lay  in  fishing-tackle.  The  boys  had  this 
great  advantage  over  their  enemies,  that  they  spent  a  large  portion 
of  the  day  in  nature's  garb  by  the  river  side,  and  so,  when  tired 
of  swimming,  would  get  out  on  the  other  side  and  fish,  or  set 
night-lines  till  the  keeper  hove  in  sight,  and  then  plunge  in  and 
swim  back  and  mix  with  the  other  bathers,  and  the  keepers  were 
too  wise  to  follow  across  the  stream. 

While  things  were  in  this  state,  one  day  Tom  and  three  or  four 
others  were  bathing  at  Wratislaw's,  and  had,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
been  taking  up  and  re-setting  night-lines.  They  had  all  left  the 
water,  and  were  sitting  or  standing  about  at  their  toilets,  in  all 
costumes,  from  a  shirt  upward,  when  they  were  aware  of  a  man 
in  a  velveteen  shooting-coat  approaching  from  the  other  side.  He 
was  a  new  keeper,  so  they  didn't  recognize  or  notice  him,  till  he 
pulled  up  right  opposite,  and  began: 

"I  see'd  some  of  you  young  gentlemen  over  this  side  a-fishing, 
just  now." 

"Hullo,  who  are  you?  what  business  Is  that  of  yours,  old 
Velveteens  .?" 

"I'm  the  new  under-keeper,  and  master's  told  me  to  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  on  all  o'  you  young  chaps.  And  I  tells  'ee  I  means 
business,  and  you'd  better  keep  on  your  own  side,  or  we  shall  fall 


out." 


"Well,    that's   right.   Velveteens — speak   out,    and   let's   know 
your  mind  at  once." 

[195] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Look  here,  old  boy,"  cried  East,  holding  up  a  miserable 
coarse  fish  or  two  and  a  small  jack,  "would  you  like  to  smell  'em 
and  see  which  bank  they  lived  under  ?" 

"I'll  give  you  a  bit  of  advice,  keeper,"  shouted  Tom,  who  was 
sitting  in  his  shirt  paddling  with  his  feet  in  the  river;  "you'd 
better  go  down  there  to  Swift's,  where  the  big  boys  are,  they're 
beggars  at  setting  lines,  and  'II  put  you  up  to  a  wrinkle  or  two  for 
catching  the  five-pounders."  Tom  was  nearest  to  the  keeper, 
and  that  ofiicer,  who  was  getting  angry  at  the  chaff,  fixed  his  eyes 
on  our  hero,  as  if  to  take  a  note  of  him  for  future  use.  Tom 
returned  his  gaze  with  a  steady  stare,  and  then  broke  into  a  laugh, 
and  struck  into  the  middle  of  a  favorite  School-house  song: 

"As  I  and  my  companions 

Were  setting  of  a  snare, 
The  gamekeeper  was  watching  us; 

For  him  we  did  not  care: 
For  we  can  wrestle  and  fight,  my  boys, 

And  jump  out  anywhere. 
For  it's  my  delight  of  a  likely  night, 

In  the  season  of  the  year." 

The  chorus  was  taken  up  by  the  other  boys  with  shouts  of 
laughter,  and  the  keeper  turned  away  with  a  grunt,  but  evidently 
bent  on  mischief.     The  boys  thought  no  more  of  the  matter. 

But  now  came  on  the  May-fly  season;  the  soft,  hazy,  summer 
weather  lay  sleepily  along  the  rich  meadows  by  Avon  side,  and 
the  green  and  gray  flies  flickered  with  their  graceful,  lazy,  up-and- 
down  flight  over  the  reeds  and  the  water  and  the  meadows,  in 
myriads  upon  myriads.  The  May-flies  must  surely  be  the  lotus- 
eaters  of  the  ephemerae;  the  happiest,  laziest,  carelessest  fly  that 
dances  and  dreams  out  his  few  hours  of  sunshiny  life  by  English 
rivers. 

Every  little,  pitiful,  coarse  fish  in  the  Avon  was  on  the  alert  for 
the  flics,  and  gorging  his  wretched  carcass  with  hundreds  daily, 

[196] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

the  glutt(jnous  rogues!  and  every  lover  of  the  gentle  craft  was  out 
to  avenge  the  poor  May-flies. 

So,  one  fine  Thursday  afternoon,  I'om,  having  bcjrrowed  East's 
new  rod,  started  by  himself  to  the  river.  He  fished  for  some  time 
with  small  success,  not  a  fish  would  rise  at  him;  but,  as  he  prowled 
along  the  bank,  he  was  presently  aware  of  mighty  ones  feeding 
in  a  pool  on  the  opposite  side,  under  the  shade  of  a  huge  willow- 
tree.  The  stream  was  deep  here,  but  some  fifty  yards  below  was 
a  shallow,  for  which  he  made  off  hotfoot;  and  forgetting  land- 
lords, keepers,  solemn  prohibitions  of  the  Doctor,  and  everything 
else,  pulled  up  his  trousers,  plunged  across,  and  in  three  minutes 
was  creeping  along  on  all  fours  toward  the  clump  of  willows. 

It  isn't  often  that  great  chub  or  any  other  coarse  fish  are  in 
earnest  about  anything,  but  just  then  they  were  thoroughly  bent 
on  feeding,  and  in  half  an  hour  Master  Tom  had  deposited  three 
thumping  fellows  at  the  foot  of  the  giant  willow.  As  he  was  bait- 
ing for  a  fourth  pounder,  and  just  going  to  throw  in  again,  he 
became  aware  of  a  man  coming  up  the  bank  not  one  hundred 
yards  off.  Another  look  told  him  that  it  was  the  under-keeper. 
Could  he  reach  the  shallow  before  him  ?  No,  not  carrying  his 
rod.  Nothing  for  it  but  the  tree:  so  Tom  laid  his  bones  to  it, 
shinning  up  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  dragging  up  his  rod  after  him. 
He  had  just  time  to  reach  and  crouch  along  upon  a  huge  branch 
some  ten  feet  up,  which  stretched  out  over  the  river,  when  the 
keeper  arrived  at  the  clump.  Tom's  heart  beat  fast  as  he  came 
under  the  tree;  two  steps  more  and  he  would  have  passed,  when, 
as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  gleam  on  the  scales  of  the  dead  fish 
caught  his  eye,  and  he  made  a  dead  point  at  the  foot  of  the  tree. 
He  picked  up  the  fish  one  by  one;  his  eye  and  touch  told  him  that 
they  had  been  alive  and  feeding  within  the  hour.  Tom  crouched 
lower  along  the  branch,  and  heard  the  keeper  beating  the  clump. 
"If  I  could  only  get  the  rod  hidden,"  thought  he,  and  began 
gently  shifting  it  to  get  it  alongside  him;  "willow-trees  don't 
throw  out  straight  hickory  shoots  twelve  feet  long,  with  no  leaves, 

[197] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

worse  luck."  Alas!  the  keeper  catches  the  rustle,  and  then  a 
sight  of  the  rod,  and  then  of  Tom's  hand  and  arm. 

"Oh,  be  up  ther',  be  'ee  ?"  says  he,  running  under  the  tree. 
"Now  you  come  down  this  minute." 

"Tree'd  at  last,"  thinks  Tom,  making  no  answer,  and  keeping 
as  close  as  possible,  but  working  away  at  the  rod,  which  he  takes 
to  pieces:  "I'm  in  for  it,  unless  1  can  starve  him  out."  And  then 
he  begins  to  meditate  getting  along  the  branch  for  a  plunge  and 
scramble  to  the  other  isde;  but  the  small  branches  are  so  thick, 
and  the  opposite  bank  so  difficult,  that  the  keeper  will  have  lots 
of  time  to  get  round  by  the  ford  before  he  can  get  out,  so  he  gives 
that  up.  And  now  he  hears  the  keeper  beginning  to  scramble  up 
the  trunk.  That  will  never  do;  so  he  scrambles  himself  back  to 
where  his  branch  joins  the  trunk,  and  stands  with  lifted  rod. 

"Hullo,  Velveteens,  mind  your  fingers  if  you  come  any  higher." 

The  keeper  stops  and  looks  up,  and  then  with  a  grin  says,  "Oh! 
be  you,  be  it,  young  measter .?  Well,  here's  luck.  Now  I  tells 
'ee  to  come  down  at  once,  and  't  '11  be  best  for  'ee." 

"Thank  'ee,  Velveteens,  I'm  very  comfortable,"  said  Tom, 
shortening  the  rod  in  his  hand,  and  preparing  for  battle. 

"Werry  well,  please  yourself,"  says  the  keeper,  descending, 
however,  to  the  ground  again,  and  taking  his  seat  on  the  bank; 
"I  bean't  in  no  hurry,  so  you  med  take  your  time.  I'll  larn  'ee 
to  gee  honest  folk  names  afore  I've  done  with  'ee." 

"My  luck,  as  usual,"  thinks  Tom;  "what  a  fool  I  was  to  give 
him  a  black.  If  I'd  called  him  'keeper'  now,  I  might  get  off. 
The  return  match  is  all  his  way." 

The  keeper  quietly  proceeded  to  take  out  his  pipe,  fill,  and  light 
it,  keeping  an  eye  on  Tom,  who  now  sat  disconsolately  across  the 
branch,  looking  at  keeper — a  pitiful  sight  for  men  and  fishes. 
The  more  he  thought  of  it  the  less  he  liked  it.  "  It  must  be  getting 
near  second  calling-over,"  thinks  he.  Keeper  smokes  on  stolidly. 
"If  he  takes  me  up,  I  shall  be  flogged  safe  enough.  I  can't  sit 
here  all  night.     Wonder  if  he'll  rise  at  silver." 

[198] 


|::vM-^'\\^V^'^^%^ 


i*'*^»f^^s^^i^^-.^-^-  ^^ 


'OH,   BE   UP  THER',  BE   'EE  ?" 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"I  say,  keeper,"  said  he,  meekly,  "let  me  go  for  two  bob  ?" 

"Not  for  twenty,  neither,"  grunts  his  persecutor. 

And  so  they  sat  on  till  long  past  second  calling-over,  and  the 
sun  came  slanting  in  through  the  willow  branches,  and  telling  of 
locking-up  near  at  hand. 

"I'm  coming  down,  keeper,"  said  Tom,  at  last,  with  a  sigh, 
fairly  tired  out.     "Now  what  are  you  going  to  do  r' 

"Walk  'ee  up  to  school,  and  give  'ee  over  to  the  Doctor;  them's 
my  orders,"  says  Velveteens,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  fourth 
pipe,  and  standing  up  and  shaking  himself. 

"Very  good,"  said  Tom;  "but  hands  off,  you  know.  I'll  go 
with  you  quietly,  so  no  collaring  or  that  sort  ot  thing." 

Keeper  looked  at  him  a  minute — "Werry  good,"  said  he  at 
last;  and  so  Tom  descended,  and  wended  his  way  drearily  by 
the  side  of  the  keeper  up  to  the  School-house,  where  they  arrived 
just  at  locking-up.  As  they  passed  the  school-gates,  the  Tadpole 
and  several  others  who  were  standing  there  caught  the  state  of 
things,  and  rushed  out,  crying  "Rescue!"  but  Tom  shook  his 
head,  so  they  only  followed  to  the  Doctor's  gate,  and  went  back 
sorely  puzzled. 

How  changed  and  stern  the  Doctor  seemed  from  the  last  time 
that  Tom  was  up  there,  as  the  keeper  told  the  story,  not  omitting 
to  state  how  Tom  had  called  him  blackguard  names.  "Indeed, 
sir,"  broke  in  the  culprit,  "it  was  only  Velveteens."  The  Doctor 
only  asked  one  question. 

"You  know  the  rule  about  the  banks.  Brown  .?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  wait  for  me  to-morrow,  after  first  lesson." 

"I  thought  so,"  muttered  Tom. 

"And  about  the  rod,  sir .?"  went  on  the  keeper.  "Master's  told 
we  as  we  might  have  all  the  rods — " 

"Oh,  please,  sir,"  broke  in  Tom,  "the  rod  isn't  mine."  The 
Doctor  looked  puzzled,  but  the  keeper,  who  was  a  good-hearted 
fellow,  and  melted  at  Tom's  evident  distress,  gave  up  his  claim. 
15  [  2oi  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Tom  was  flogged  next  morning,  and  a  few  days  afterward  met 
Velveteens,  and  presented  him  with  half- a -crown  for  giving 
up  the  rod  claim,  and  they  became  sworn  friends;  and  I  re- 
gret to  say  that  Tom  had  many  more  fish  from  under  the 
willow  that  May  -  fly  season,  and  was  never  caught  again  by 
Velveteens. 

It  wasn't  three  weeks  before  Tom,  and  now  East  by  his  side, 
were  again  in  the  awful  presence.  This  time,  however,  the  Doctor 
was  not  so  terrible.  A  few  days  before,  they  had  been  fagged  at 
fives  to  fetch  the  balls  that  went  off"  the  court.  While  standing 
watching  the  game,  they  saw  five  or  six  nearly  new  balls  hit  on 
the  top  of  the  school.  "I  say,  Tom,"  said  East,  when  they  were 
dismissed,  ''couldn't  we  get  those  balls  somehow.?" 

"Let's  try,  anyhow." 

So  they  reconnoitred  the  walls  carefully,  borrowed  a  coal- 
hammer  from  old  Stumps,  bought  some  big  nails,  and,  after  one 
or  two  attempts,  scaled  the  schools,  and  possessed  themselves  of 
huge  quantities  of  fives'-balls.  The  place  pleased  them  so  much 
that  they  spent  all  their  spare  time  there,  scratching  and  cutting 
their  names  on  the  top  of  every  tower;  and  at  last,  having  ex- 
hausted all  other  places,  finished  up  with  inscribing  H.  East, 
T.  Brown,  on  the  minute-hand  of  the  great  clock.  In  the 
doing  of  which  they  held  the  minute-hand,  and  disturbed  the 
clock's  economy.  So  next  morning,  when  masters  and  boys  came 
trooping  down  to  prayers,  and  entered  the  quadrangle,  the  in- 
jured minute-hand  was  indicating  three  minutes  to  the  hour. 
They  all  pulled  up,  and  took  their  time.  When  the  hour  struck, 
doors  were  closed,  and  half  the  school  late.  Thomas  being  sent 
to  make  inquiry,  discovers  their  names  on  the  minute-hand,  and 
reports  accordingly;  and  they  are  sent  for,  a  knot  of  their  friends 
making  derisive  and  pantomimic  allusions  to  what  their  fate  will 
be,  as  they  walk  ofi^. 

But  the  Doctor,  after  hearing  their  story,  doesn't  make  much 
of  it,  and  only  gives  them  thirty  lines  of  Homer  to  learn  by  heart, 

[  202  ] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

and  a  lecture  on  die  likeliliood  of  such  exploits  ending  in  broken 
bones. 

Alas!  almost  the  next  day  was  one  of  the  great  fairs  in  the 
town;  and  as  several  rows  and  other  disagreeable  accidents  had 
of  late  taken  place  on  these  occasions,  the  Doctor  gives  out,  after 
prayers  in  the  morning,  that  no  boy  is  to  go  down  into  the  town. 
Wherefore  East  and  Tom,  for  no  earthly  pleasure  except  that  of 
doing  what  they  are  told  not  to  do,  start  away,  after  second  lesson, 
and  making  a  short  circuit  through  the  fields,  strike  a  back  lane 
which  leads  into  the  town,  go  down  it,  and  run  plump  upon  one 
of  the  masters  as  they  emerge  into  the  High  Street.  The  master 
in  question,  though  a  very  clever,  is  not  a  righteous  man;  he  has 
already  caught  several  of  his  own  pupils,  and  gives  them  lines  to 
learn,  while  he  sends  East  and  Tom,  who  are  not  his  pupils,  up 
to  the  Doctor;  who,  on  learning  that  they  had  been  at  prayers 
in  the  morning,  flogs  them  soundly. 

The  flogging  did  them  no  good  at  the  time,  for  the  injustice  of 
their  captor  was  rankling  in  their  minds;  but  it  was  just  at  the 
end  of  the  half,  and  on  the  next  evening  but  one  Thomas  knocks 
at  their  door,  and  says  the  Doctor  wants  to  see  them.  They  look 
at  each  other  in  silent  dismay.  What  can  it  be  now  ?  Which 
of  their  countless  wrong-doings  can  he  have  heard  of  officially  .? 
However,  it  is  no  use  delaying,  so  up  they  go  to  the  study.  There 
they  find  the  Doctor,  not  angry,  but  very  grave.  "He  has  sent 
for  them  to  speak  very  seriously  before  they  go  home.  They  have 
each  been  flogged  several  times  in  the  half-year  for  direct  and 
wilful  breaches  of  rules.  This  cannot  go  on.  They  are  doing 
no  good  to  themselves  or  others,  and  now  they  are  getting  up  in 
the  school,  and  have  influence.  They  seem  to  think  that  rules 
are  made  capriciously,  and  for  the  pleasure  of  the  masters;  but 
this  is  not  so,  they  are  made  for  the  good  of  the  whole  school,  and 
must  and  shall  be  obeyed.  Those  who  thoughtlessly  or  wilfully 
break  them  will  not  be  allowed  to  stay  at  the  school.  He  should 
be  sorry  if  they  had  XQ  leave,  as  the  school  might  do  them  both 

[  203  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

much  good,  and  wishes  them  to  think  very  seriously  in  the  hoH- 
days  over  w^hat  he  has  said.     Good-night." 

And  so  the  two  hurry  off  horribly  scared:  the  idea  of  having 
to  leave  has  never  crossed  their  minds,  and  is  quite  unbearable. 

As  they  go  out,  they  meet  at  the  door  old  Holmes,  a  sturdy, 
cheery  praepostor  of  another  house,  who  goes  in  to  the  Doctor; 
and  they  hear  his  genial,  hearty  greeting  of  the  new-comer,  so 
different  to  their  own  reception,  as  the  door  closes,  and  return  to 
their  study  with  heavy  hearts,  and  tremendous  resolves  to  break 
no  more  rules. 

Five  minutes  afterward  the  master  of  their  form,  a  late  arrival 
and  a  model  young  master,  knocks  at  the  Doctor's  study-door. 
"Come  in!"  and  as  he  enters  the  Doctor  goes  on,  to  Holmes — 
"you  see  I  do  not  know  anything  of  the  case  officially,  and  if  I 
take  any  notice  of  it  at  all,  I  must  publicly  expel  the  boy.  I  don't 
wish  to  do  that,  for  I  think  there  is  some  good  in  him.  There's 
nothing  for  it  but  a  good  sound  thrashing."  He  paused  to  shake 
hands  with  the  master,  which  Holmes  does  also,  and  then  prepares 
to  leave. 

"I  understand.     Good-night,  sir." 

"Good-night,  Holmes.  And  remember,"  added  the  Doctor, 
emphasizing  the  words,  "  a  good  sound  thrashing  before  the 
whole  house." 

The  door  closed  on  Holmes;  and  the  Doctor,  in  answer  to  the 
puzzled  look  of  his  lieutenant,  explained  shortly:  "A  gross  case 
of  bullying.  Wharton,  the  head  of  the  house,  is  a  very  good 
fellow,  but  slight  and  weak,  and  severe  physical  pain  is  the  only 
way  to  deal  with  such  a  case;  so  I  have  asked  Holmes  to  take  it 
up.  He  is  very  careful  and  trustworthy,  and  has  plenty  of 
strength.  I  wish  all  the  sixth  had  as  much.  We  must  have  it 
here,  if  we  are  to  keep  order  at  all." 

Now  I  don't  want  any  wiseacres  to  read  this  book;  but  if  they 
should,  of  course  they  will  prick  up  their  long  ears  and  howl,  or 
rather  bray,  at  the  above  story.     Very  good,  I  don't  object;    but 

[204] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

what  I  have  to  add  for  you  boys  is  this:  that  Holmes  called  a 
levy  of  his  house  after  breakfast  next  morning,  made  them  a 
speech  on  the  case  of  bullying  in  question,  and  then  gave  the 
bully  a  "good  sound  thrashing";  and  that  years  afterward,  that 
boy  sought  out  Holmes  and  thanked  him,  saying  it  had  been  the 
kindest  act  which  had  ever  been  done  upon  him,  and  the  turning- 
point  in  his  character;  and  a  very  good  fellow  he  became,  and  a 
credit  to  his  school. 

After  some  other  talk  between  them,  the  Doctor  said:  "I  want 
to  speak  to  you  about  two  boys  in  your  form.  East  and  Brown; 
I  have  just  been  speaking  to  them.    What  do  you  think  of  them  ?" 

"Well,  they  are  not  hard  workers,  and  very  thoughtless  and  full 
of  spirits — but  I  can't  help  liking  them.  I  think  they  are  sound, 
good  fellows  at  the  bottom." 

"I'm  glad  of  it.  I  think  so,  too.  But  they  make  me  very 
uneasy.  They  are  taking  the  lead  a  good  deal  among  the  fags 
in  my  house,  for  they  are  very  active,  bold  fellows.  I  should  be 
sorry  to  lose  them,  but  I  sha'n't  let  them  stay  if  I  don't  see  them 
gaining  character  and  manliness.  In  another  year  they  may  do 
great  harm  to  all  the  younger  boys." 

"Oh,  I  hope  you  won't  send  them  away,"  pleaded  their  master, 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it.  But  now  I  never  feel  sure,  after  any 
half-holiday,  that  I  sha'n't  have  to  flog  one  of  them  next  morning 
for  some  foolish,  thoughtless  scrape.  I  quite  dread  seeing  either 
of  them." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  minute.  Presently  the  Doctor  be- 
gan again: 

"They  don't  feel  that  they  have  any  duty  or  work  to  do  in  the 
school,  and  how  is  one  to  make  them  feel  it  r' 

"I  think  if  either  of  them  had  some  little  boy  to  take  care  of. 
It  would  steady  them.  Brown  is  the  more  reckless  of  the  two,  I 
should  say;  East  wouldn't  get  into  so  many  scrapes  without  him." 

"Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  something  like  a  sigh,  "I'll  think 
of  it."     And  they  went  on  to  talk  of  other  subjects. 

[  205  ] 


PART    II 


"I  [hold]  it  truth,  with  him  who  sings 
To  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 
That  men  may  rise  on  stepping-stones 
Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things." 

— Tennyson. 


CHAPTER   I 


HOW   THE    TIDE    TURNED 

"Once  to  every  man  and  nation,  comes  the  moment  to  decide, 
In  the  strife  of  Truth  with  Falsehood,  for  the  good  or  evil  side: 

Then  it  is  the  brave  man  chooses,  while  the  coward  stands  aside, 
Doubting  in  his  abject  spirit,  till  his  Lord  is  crucified." 

— Lowell. 


[IE  turning-point  in  our  hero's  school  career 
had  now  come,  and  the  manner  of  it  was  as 
follows:  On  the  evening  of  the  first  day  of  the 
next  half-year,  Tom,  East,  and  another  School- 
house  boy,  who  had  just  been  dropped  at  the 
Spread  Eagle  by  the  old  Regulator,  rushed  into 
the  matron's  room  in  high  spirits,  such  as  all 

real  boys  are  in  when  they  first  get  back,  however  fond  they  may 

be  of  home. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Wixie,"  shouted  one,  seizing  on  the  methodical, 

active  little  dark-eyed  woman,  who  was  busy  stowing  away  the 

[209] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

linen  of  the  boys  who  had  already  arrived  into  their  several  pigeon- 
holes, "here  we  are  again,  you  see,  as  jolly  as  ever.  Let  us  help 
you  put  the  things  away." 

"And,  Mary,"  cried  another  (she  was  called  indifferently  by 
either  name),  "who's  come  back?  Has  the  Doctor  made  old 
Jones  leave  ?     How  many  new  boys  are  there  ?" 

"Am  I  and  East  to  have  Gray's  study  ?  You  know  you  prom- 
ised to  get  it  for  us  if  you  could,"  shouted  Tom. 

"And  am  I  to  sleep  in  Number  4  ?"  roared  East. 

"How's  old  Sam,  and  Bogle,  and  Sally.?" 

"Bless  the  boys!"  cries  Mary,  at  last  getting  in  a  word,  "why, 
you'll  shake  me  to  death.  There  now,  do  go  away  up  to  the 
housekeeper's  room  and  get  your  suppers;  you  know  I  haven't 
time  to  talk — you'll  find  plenty  more  in  the  house.  Now,  Master 
East,  do  let  those  things  alone — you're  mixing  up  three  new  boys' 
things."  And  she  rushed  at  East,  who  escaped  round  the  open 
trunks  holding  up  a  prize. 

"Hullo!  look  here.  Tommy,"  shouted  he,  "here's  fun!"  and 
he  brandished  above  his  head  some  pretty  little  night-caps,  beau- 
tifully made  and  marked,  the  work  of  loving  fingers  in  some 
distant  country  home.  The  kind  mother  and  sisters,  w4io  sewed 
that  delicate  stitching  with  aching  hearts,  little  thought  of  the 
trouble  they  might  be  bringing  on  the  young  head  for  which  they 
were  meant.  The  little  matron  was  wiser,  and  snatched  the  caps 
from  East  before  he  could  look  at  the  name  on  them. 

"Now,  Master  East,  I  shall  be  very  angry  if  you  don't  go,"  said 
she;  "there's  some  capital  cold  beef  and  pickles  up-stairs,  and  I 
won't  have  you  old  boys  in  my  room  first  night." 

"Hurra  for  the  pickles!  Come  along.  Tommy;  come  along, 
Smith,  We  shall  find  out  who  the  young  count  is,  I'll  be  bound: 
1  hope  he'll  sleep  in  my  room.     Mary's  always  vicious  first  week." 

As  the  boys  turned  to  leave  the  room,  the  matron  touched  Tom's 
arm,  and  said:  "Master  Brown,  please  stop  a  minute,  I  want  to 
speak  to  you." 

[210] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"Very  well,  Mary.  I'll  come  in  a  minute;  East,  don't  finish 
the  pickles — " 

"Oh,  Master  Brown,"  went  on  the  little  matron,  when  the  rest 
had  gone,  "you're  to  have  Gray's  study,  Mrs.  Arnold  says.  And 
she  wants  you  to  take  in  this  young  gentleman.  He's  a  new  hoy, 
and  thirteen  years  old,  though  he  don't  look  it.  He's  very  deli- 
cate, and  has  never  been  from  home  before.  And  I  told  Mrs. 
Arnold  I  thought  you'd  be  kind  to  him,  and  see  that  they  don't 
bully  him  at  first.  He's  put  into  your  form,  and  I've  given  him 
the  bed  next  to  yours  in  Number  4;  so  East  can't  sleep  there  this 
half." 

'  Tom  was  rather  put  about  by  this  speech.  He  had  got  the  double 
study  which  he  coveted,  but  here  were  conditions  attached  which 
greatly  moderated  his  joy.  He  looked  across  the  room,  and  in 
the  far  corner  of  the  sofa  was  aware  of  a  slight,  pale  boy,  with 
large,  blue  eyes  and  light,  fair  hair,  who  seemed  ready  to  shrink 
through  the  floor.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  little  stranger  was 
just  the  boy  whose  first  half-year  at  a  public  school  would  be 
misery  to  himself  if  he  were  left  alone,  or  constant  anxiety  to  any 
one  who  meant  to  see  him  through  his  troubles.  Tom  was  too 
honest  to  take  in  the  youngster  and  then  let  him  shift  for  himself; 
and  if  he  took  him  as  his  chum  instead  of  East,  where  were  all  his 
pet  plans  of  having  a  bottled-beer  cellar  under  his  window,  and 
making  night-lines  and  slings,  and  plotting  expeditions  to  Browns- 
over  Mills  and  Caldecott's  Spinney .?  East  and  he  had  made  up 
their  minds  to  get  this  study,  and  then  every  night,  from  locking- 
up  till  ten,  they  would  be  together  to  talk  about  fishing,  drink 
bottled  beer,  read  Marryat's  novels,  and  sort  birds'  eggs.  And 
this  new  boy  would  most  likely  never  go  out  of  the  close,  and 
would  be  afraid  of  wet  feet,  and  always  getting  laughed  at 
and  called  Molly,  or  Jenny,  or  some  derogatory  feminine 
nickname. 

The  matron  watched  him  for  a  moment,  and  saw  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind,  and  so,  like  a  wise  negotiator,  threw  in  an 

[211] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

appeal  to  his  warm  heart.  "Poor  little  fellow,"  said  she,  in 
almost  a  whisper,  "his  father's  dead,  and  he's  got  no  brothers. 
And  his  mamma,  such  a  kind,  sweet  lady,  almost  broke  her  heart 
at  leaving  him  this  morning;  and  she  said  one  of  his  sisters  was 
like  to  die  of  decline,  and  so — " 

"Well,  well,"  burst  in  Tom,  with  something  like  a  sigh  at  the 
effort,  "I  suppose  I  must  give  up  East.  Come  along,  young  un. 
What's  your  name .?  We'll  go  and  have  some  supper,  and  then 
I'll  show  you  our  study." 

"His  name's  George  Arthur,"  said  the  matron,  walking  up  to 
him  with  Tom,  who  grasped  his  little,  delicate  hand  as  the  proper 
preliminary  to  making  a  chum  of  him,  and  felt  as  if  he  could  have 
blown  him  away.  "I've  had  his  books  and  things  put  into  the 
study,  which  his  mamma  has  had  new  papered,  and  the  sofa 
covered,  and  new  green-baize  curtains  over  the  door"  (the  diplo- 
matic matron  threw  this  in,  to  show  that  the  new  boy  was  con- 
tributing largely  to  the  partnership  comforts).  "And  Mrs. 
Arnold  told  me  to  say,"  she  added,  "that  she  should  like  you  both 
to  come  up  to  tea  with  her.  You  know  the  way.  Master  Brown, 
and  the  things  are  just  gone  up,  I  know." 

Here  was  an  announcement  for  Master  Tom!  He  was  to  go 
up  to  tea  the  first  night,  just  as  if  he  were  a  sixth  or  fifth  form 
boy,  and  of  importance  in  the  school  world,  instead  of  the  most 
reckless  young  scapegrace  among  the  fags.  He  felt  himself  lifted 
onto  a  higher  social  and  moral  platform  at  once.  Nevertheless, 
he  couldn't  give  up  without  a  sigh  the  idea  of  the  jolly  supper  in 
the  housekeeper's  room  with  East  and  the  rest,  and  a  rush  round 
to  all  the  studies  of  his  friends  afterward,  to  pour  out  the  deeds 
and  wonders  of  the  holidays,  to  plot  fifty  plans  for  the  coming 
half-year,  and  to  gather  news  of  who  had  left,  and  what  new  boys 
had  come,  who  had  got  who's  study,  and  where  the  new  pncpos- 
tors  slept.  However,  Tom  consoled  himself  with  thinking  that  he 
couldn't  have  done  all  this  with  the  new  boy  at  his  heels,  and  so 
marched  off  along  the  passages  to  the  Doctor's  private  house 

[212] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

with  liis  young  charge  in  tow,  in  monstrous  good -humor  with 
himself  and  all  the  world. 

It  is  needless,  and  would  be  impertinent,  to  tell  how  the  two 
young  boys  were  received  in  that  drawing-room.  The  lady  who 
presided  there  is  still  living,  and  has  carried  with  her  to  her  peace- 
ful home  in  the  North  the  respect  and  love  of  all  those  who  ever 
felt  and  shared  that  gentle  and  high-bred  hospitality.  Ay,  many 
is  the  brave  heart  now  doing  its  work  and  bearing  its  load  in 
country  curacies,  London  chambers,  under  the  Indian  sun,  and 
in  Australian  towns  and  clearings,  which  looks  back  with  fond 
and  grateful  memory  to  that  School-house  drawing-room,  and 
dates  much  of  its  highest  and  best  training  to  the  lessons  learned 
there. 

Besides  Mrs.  Arnold  and  one  or  two  of  the  elder  children,  there 
were  one  of  the  younger  masters,  young  Brooke — who  was  now  in 
the  sixth,  and  had  succeeded  to  his  brother's  position  and  influ- 
ence— and  another  sixth-form  boy  there,  talking  together  before 
the  fire.  The  master  and  young  Brooke,  now  a  great,  strapping 
fellow  six  feet  high,  eighteen  years  old,  and  powerful  as  a  coal- 
heaver,  nodded  kindly  to  Tom,  to  his  intense  glory,  and  then 
went  on  talking;  the  other  did  not  notice  them.  The  hostess, 
after  a  few  kind  words,  which  led  the  boys  at  once  and  insensibly 
to  feel  at  their  ease,  and  to  begin  talking  to  each  other,  left  them 
with  her  own  children  while  she  finished  a  letter.  The  young 
ones  got  on  fast  and  well,  Tom  holding  forth  about  a  prodigious 
pony  he  had  been  riding  out  hunting,  and  hearing  stories  of  the 
winter  glories  of  the  lakes,  when  tea  came  in,  and  immediately 
after  the  Doctor  himself. 

How  frank  and  kind  and  manly  was  his  greeting  to  the  party 
by  the  fire!  It  did  Tom's  heart  good  to  see  him  and  young  Brooke 
shake  hands,  and  look  each  other  in  the  face;  and  he  didn't 
fail  to  remark  that  Brooke  was  nearly  as  tall  and  quite  as  broad 
as  the  Doctor.  And  his  cup  was  full,  when  in  another  moment 
his  master  turned  to  him  with  another  warm  shake  of  the  hand, 

[213] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

and,  seemingly  oblivious  of  all  the  late  scrapes  which  he  had  been 
getting  into,  said:  "Ah,  Brown,  you  here!  I  hope  you  left  your 
father  and  all  well  at  home  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  quite  well." 

"And  this  is  the  little  fellow  who  is  to  share  your  study.  Well, 
he  doesn't  look  as  we  should  like  to  see  him.  He  wants  some 
Rugby  air,  and  cricket.  And  you  must  take  him  some  good 
long  walks,  to  Bilton  Grange  and  Caldecott's  Spinney,  and  show 
what  a  little  pretty  country  we  have  about  here." 

Tom  wondered  if  the  Doctor  knew  that  his  visits  to  Bilton 
Grange  were  for  the  purpose  of  taking  rooks'  nests  (a  proceeding 
strongly  discountenanced  by  the  owner  thereof),  and  those  to 
Caldecott's  Spinney  were  prompted  chiefly  by  the  conveniences 
for  setting  night-lines.  What  didn't  the  Doctor  know .?  And 
what  a  noble  use  he  always  made  of  it!  He  almost  resolved  to 
abjure  rook-pies  and  night-lines  forever.  The  tea  went  merrily 
off,  the  Doctor  now  talking  of  holiday  doings,  and  then  of  the 
prospects  of  the  half-year,  what  chance  there  was  for  the  Balliol 
scholarship,  whether  the  eleven  would  be  a  good  one.  Every- 
body was  at  his  ease,  and  everybody  felt  that  he,  young  as  he 
might  be,  was  of  some  use  in  the  little  school  world,  and  had  a 
work  to  do  there. 

Soon  after  tea  the  Doctor  went  off  to  his  study,  and  the  young 
boys  a  few  minutes  afterward  took  their  leave,  and  went  out  of 
the  private  door  which  led  from  the  Doctor's  house  into  the 
middle  passage. 

At  the  fire,  at  the  farther  end  of  the  passage,  was  a  crowd  of 
boys  in  loud  talk  and  laughter.  There  was  a  sudden  pause  when 
the  door  opened,  and  then  a  great  shout  of  greeting,  as  Tom  was 
recognized  marching  down  the  passage. 

"Hullo,  Brown,  where  do  you  come  from.'"' 

"Oh,  I've  been  to  tea  with  the  Doctor,"  says  Tom,  with  great 
dignity. 

"My  eye!"  cried  East.     "Oh!   so  that's  why  Mary  called  you 

[214] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

back,  and  you  didn't  come  to  supper.  You  lost  something — that 
beef  and  pickles  was  no  end  good." 

"I  say,  young  fellow,"  cried  Hall,  detecting  Arthur,  and  catch- 
ing him  by  the  collar,  "what's  your  name  .?  Where  do  you  come 
from  ?     How  old  are  you  ?" 

Tom  saw  Arthur  shrink  back,  and  look  scared  as  all  the  group 
turned  to  him,  but  thought  it  best  to  let  him  answer,  just  standing 
by  his  side  to  support  in  case  of  need. 

"Arthur,  sir.     1   come  from   Devonshire." 

"  Don't  call  me  '  sir,'  you  young  muff.     How  old  are  you  .'"' 

"Thirteen." 

"Can  you  sing  ?" 

The  poor  boy  was  trembling  and  hesitating.  Tom  struck  in: 
"You  be  hanged,  Tadpole.  He'll  have  to  sing,  whether  he  can 
or  not,  Saturday  twelve  weeks,  and  that's  long  enough  off  yet." 

"  Do  you  know  him  at  home.  Brown  .?" 

"No;  but  he's  my  chum  in  Gray's  old  study,  and  it's  near  prayer- 
time,  and  I  haven't  had  a  look  at  it  yet.     Come  along,  Arthur." 

Away  went  the  two,  Tom  longing  to  get  his  charge  safe  under 
cover,  where  he  might  advise  him  on  his  deportment. 

"What  a  queer  chum  for  Tom  Brown,"  was  the  comment  at 
the  fire;  and  it  must  be  confessed  so  thought  Tom  himself,  as  he 
lighted  his  candle,  and  surveyed  the  new  green -baize  curtains 
and  the  carpet  and  sofa  with  much  satisfaction. 

"I  say,  Arthur,  what  a  brick  your  mother  is  to  make  us  so  cozy. 
But  look  here  now,  you  must  answer  straight  up  when  the  fellows 
speak  to  you,  and  don't  be  afraid.  If  you're  afraid,  you'll  get 
bullied.  And  don't  you  say  you  can  sing;  and  don't  you  ever 
talk  about  home,  or  your  mother  and  sisters." 

Poor  little  Arthur  looked  ready  to  cry. 

"But  please,"  said  he,  "mayn't  I  talk  about — about  home 
to  you  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  like  it.  But  don't  talk  to  boys  you  don't  know,  or 
they'll  call  you  homesick,  or   mamma's   darling,  or  some  such 

[215] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Stuff.  What  a  jolly  desk!  Is  that  yours?  And  what  stunning 
binding!     Why,  your  school-books  look  like  novels!" 

And  Tom  was  soon  deep  in  Arthur's  goods  and  chattels,  all  new 
and  good  enough  for  a  fifth-form  boy,  and  hardly  thought  of  his 
friends  outside,  till  the  prayer-bell  rang. 

I  have  already  described  the  School-house  prayers;  they  were 
the  same  on  the  first  night  as  on  the  other  nights,  save  for  the 
gaps  caused  by  the  absence  of  those  boys  who  came  late,  and  the 
line  of  new  boys  who  stood  all  together  at  the  farther  table — of 
all  sorts  and  sizes,  like  young  bears  with  all  their  troubles  to  come, 
as  Tom's  father  had  said  to  him  when  he  was  in  the  same  posi- 
tion. He  thought  of  it  as  he  looked  at  the  line,  and  poor  little 
slight  Arthur  standing  with  them,  and  as  he  was  leading  him  up- 
stairs to  Number  4,  directly  after  prayers,  and  showing  him  his 
bed.  It  was  a  huge,  high,  airy  room,  with  two  large  windows 
looking  on  to  the  school  close.  There  were  twelve  beds  in  the 
room;  the  one  in  the  farthest  corner  by  the  fireplace,  occupied 
by  the  sixth-form  boy  who  was  responsible  for  the  discipline  of 
the  room,  and  the  rest  by  boys  in  the  lower-fifth  and  other  junior 
forms,  all  fags  (for  the  fifth-form  boys,  as  has  been  said,  slept  in 
rooms  by  themselves).  Being  fags,  the  eldest  of  them  was  not 
more  than  about  sixteen  years  old,  and  were  all  bound  to  be  up 
and  in  bed  by  ten;  the  sixth-form  boys  came  to  bed  from  ten  to 
a  quarter  past  (at  which  time  the  old  verger  came  round  to  put 
the  candles  out),  except  when  they  sat  up  to  read. 

Within  a  few  minutes,  therefore,  of  their  entry,  all  the  other 
boys  who  slept  in  Number  4  had  come  up.  The  little  fellows 
went  quietly  to  their  own  beds,  and  began  undressing  and  talking 
to  each  other  in  whispers;  while  the  elder,  among  whom  was 
Tom,  sat  chatting  about  on  one  another's  bed,  with  their  jackets 
and  waistcoats  off.  Poor  little  Arthur  was  overwhelmed  with 
the  novelty  of  his  position.  The  idea  of  sleeping  in  the  room. 
with  strange  boys  had  clearly  never  crossed  his  mind  before,  and 
was  as  painful  as  it  was  strange  to  him.     He  could  hardly  bear 

[216] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

to  take  his  jacket  off;  however,  presently,  with  an  effort,  off  it 
came,  and  then  he  paused  and  looked  at  Tom,  who  was  sitting 
at  the  bottom  of  his  bed  talking  and  laughing. 

*' Please,  Brown,"  he  whispered,  "may  I  wash  my  face  and 
hands  ?" 

"Of  course,  if  you  like,"  said  Tom,  staring;  "that's  your  wash- 
hand-stand  under  the  window,  second  from  your  bed.  You'll 
have  to  go  down  for  more  water  in  the  morning  if  you  use  it  all." 
And  on  he  went  with  his  talk,  while  Arthur  stole  timidly  from 
between  the  beds  out  to  his  washhand-stand,  and  began  his 
ablutions,  thereby  drawing  for  a  moment  on  himself  the  attention 
of  the  room. 

On  went  the  talk  and  laughter.  Arthur  finished  his  washing 
and  undressing,  and  put  on  his  night-gown.  He  then  looked 
round  more  nervously  than  ever.  Two  or  three  of  the  little  boys 
were  already  in  bed,  sitting  up  with  their  chins  on  their  knees. 
The  light  burned  clear,  the  noise  went  on.  It  was  a  trying  mo- 
ment for  the  poor  little  lonely  boy;  however,  this  time  he  didn't 
ask  Tom  what  he  might  or  might  not  do,  but  dropped  on  his 
knees  by  his  bedside,  as  he  had  done  every  day  from  his  childhood, 
to  open  his  heart  to  Him  who  heareth  the  cry  and  beareth  the 
sorrows  of  the  tender  child,  and  the  strong  man  in  agony. 

Tom  was  sitting  at  the  bottom  of  his  bed  unlacing  his  boots, 
so  that  his  back  was  toward  Arthur,  and  he  didn't  see  what  had 
happened,  and  looked  up  in  wonder  at  the  sudden  silence.  I  hen 
two  or  three  boys  laughed  and  sneered,  and  a  big,  brutal  fellow, 
who  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  picked  up  a  slipper, 
and  shied  it  at  the  kneeling  boy,  calling  him  a  snivelling  young 
shaver.  Then  Tom  saw  the  whole,  and  the  next  moment  the 
boot  he  had  just  pulled  off  flew  straight  at  the  head  of  the  bully, 
who  had  just  time  to  throw  up  his  arm  and  catch  it  on  his 
elbow. 

"Confound  you,  Brown,  what's  that  for?"  roared  he,  stamping 
with  pain. 

10  [217] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Never  mind  what  I  mean,"  said  Tom,  stepping  onto  the  floor, 
every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body  tinghng;  "if  any  fellow  wants  the 
other  boot,  he  knows  how  to  get  it." 

What  would  have  been  the  result  is  doubtful,  for  at  this  moment 
the  sixth-form  boy  came  in,  and  not  another  word  could  be  said. 
Tom  and  the  rest  rushed  into  bed  and  finished  their  unrobing 
there,  and  the  old  verger,  as  punctual  as  the  clock,  had  put  out 
the  candle  in  another  minute,  and  toddled  on  to  the  next  room, 
shutting  their  door  with  his  usual  "Good-night,  gen'l'm'n."  n 

There  were  many  boys  in  the  room  by  whom  that  little  scene 
was  taken  to  heart  before  they  slept.  But  sleep  seemed  to  have 
deserted  the  pillow  of  poor  Tom.  For  some  time  his  excitement, 
and  the  flood  of  memories  which  chased  one  another  through  his 
brain,  kept  him  from  thinking  or  resolving.  His  head  throbbed, 
his  heart  leapt,  and  he  could  hardly  keep  himself  from  springing 
out  of  bed  and  rushing  about  the  room.  Then  the  thought  of 
his  own  mother  came  across  him,  and  the  promise  he  had  made  at 
her  knee,  years  ago,  never  to  forget  to  kneel  by  his  bedside,  and 
give  himself  up  to  his  Father,  before  he  laid  his  head  on  the  pillow, 
from  which  it  might  never  rise;  and  he  lay  down  gently  and 
cried  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  He  was  only  fourteen 
years  old. 

It  was  no  light  act  of  courage  in  those  days,  my  dear  boys,  for 
a  little  fellow  to  say  his  prayers  publicly,  even  at  Rugby.  A  few 
years  later,  when  Arnold's  manly  piety  had  begun  to  leaven  the 
school,  the  tables  turned;  before  he  died,  in  the  School-house,  at 
least,  and  I  believe  in  the  other  houses,  the  rule  was  the  other 
way.  But  poor  Tom  had  come  to  school  in  other  times.  The 
first  few  nights  after  he  came  he  did  not  kneel  down  because  of 
the  noise,  but  sat  up  in  bed  till  the  candle  was  out,  and  then  stole 
out  and  said  his  prayers  in  fear,  lest  some  one  should  find  him  out. 
So  did  many  another  poor  little  fellow.  Then  he  began  to  think 
that  he  might  just  as  well  say  his  prayers  in  bed,  and  then  that 
it  didn't  matter  whether  he  was  kneeling,  or  sitting,  or  lying  down. 

[2.8] 


c 
o 

G 

:^ 

O 

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C 


> 

H 

H 
> 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

And  SO  it  had  come  to  pass  with  Tom  as  with  all  who  will  not 
confess  their  Lord  before  men:  and  for  the  last  year  he  had  prob- 
ably not  said  his  prayers  in  earnest  a  dozen  times. 

Poor  Tom!  the  first  and  bitterest  feeling  which  was  like  to  break 
his  heart  was  the  sense  of  his  own  cowardice.  The  vice  of  all 
others  which  he  loathed  was  brought  in  and  burned  in  on  his  own 
soul.  He  had  lied  to  his  mother,  to  his  conscience,  to  his  God. 
How  could  he  bear  it  ^  And  then  the  poor  little  weak  boy,  whom 
he  had  pitied  and  almost  scorned  for  his  weakness,  had  done  that 
which  he,  braggart  as  he  was,  dared  not  do.  The  first  dawn  of 
comfort  came  to  him  in  swearing  to  himself  that  he  would  stand 
by  that  boy  through  thick  and  thin,  and  cheer  him,  and  help  him, 
and  bear  his  burdens,  for  the  good  deed  done  that  night.  Then 
he  resolved  to  write  home  next  day  and  tell  his  mother  all,  and 
what  a  coward  her  son  had  been.  And  then  peace  came  to  him 
as  he  resolved,  lastly,  to  bear  his  testimony  next  morning.  The 
morning  would  be  harder  than  the  night  to  begin  with,  but  he  felt 
that  he  could  not  afford  to  let  one  chance  slip.  Several  times  he 
faltered,  for  the  devil  showed  him,  first,  all  his  old  friends  calling 
him  "Saint"  and  "Square-toes,"  and  a  dozen  hard  names,  and 
whispered  to  him  that  his  motives  would  be  misunderstood,  and 
he  would  only  be  left  alone  with  the  new  boy;  whereas  it  was  his 
duty  to  keep  all  means  of  influence,  that  he  might  do  good  to  the 
largest  number.  And  then  came  the  more  subtle  temptation, 
"Shall  I  not  be  showing  myself  braver  than  others  by  doing  this  ? 
Have  I  any  right  to  begin  it  now  .?  Ought  I  not  rather  to  pray  in 
my  own  study,  letting  other  boys  know  that  I  do  so,  and  trying 
to  lead  them  to  it,  while  in  public  at  least  I  should  go  on  as  I  have 
done  r'  However,  his  good  angel  was  too  strong  that  night,  and 
he  turned  on  his  side  and  slept,  tired  of  trying  to  reason,  but 
resolved  to  follow  the  impulse  which  had  been  so  strong,  and  in 
which  he  had  found  peace. 

Next  morning  he  was  up  and  washed  and  dressed,  all  but  his 
jacket  and  waistcoat,  just  as  the  ten  minutes'  bell  began  to  ring, 

[221  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

and  then  in  the  face  of  the  whole  room  knelt  down  to  pray.  Not 
five  words  could  he  say — the  bell  mocked  him;  he  was  listening 
for  every  whisper  in  the  room — what  were  they  all  thinking  of 
him  ?  He  was  ashamed  to  go  on  kneeling,  ashamed  to  rise  from 
his  knees.  At  last,  as  it  were  from  his  inmost  heart,  a  still  small 
voice  seemed  to  breathe  forth  the  words  of  the  publican,  "God 
be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!"  He  repeated  them  over  and  over, 
clinging  to  them  as  for  his  life,  and  rose  from  his  knees  comforted 
and  humbled,  and  ready  to  face  the  whole  world.  It  was  not 
needed:  two  other  boys  besides  Arthur  had  already  followed  his 
example,  and  he  went  down  to  the  great  school  with  a  glimmering 
of  another  lesson  in  his  heart — the  lesson  that  he  who  has  con- 
quered his  own  coward  spirit  has  conquered  the  whole  outward 
world;  and  that  other  one  which  the  old  prophet  learned  in  the 
cave  in  Mount  Horeb,  when  he  hid  his  face,  and  the  still  small 
voice  asked,  "What  doest  thou  here,  Elijah?"  that  however  we 
may  fancy  ourselves  alone  on  the  side  of  good,  the  King  and  Lord 
of  men  is  nowhere  without  His  witnesses;  for  in  every  society, 
however  seemingly  corrupt  and  godless,  there  are  those  who  have 
not  bowed  the  knee  to  Baal. 

He  found,  too,  how  greatly  he  had  exaggerated  the  effect  to 
be  produced  by  his  act.  For  a  few  nights  there  was  a  sneer  or  a 
laugh  when  he  knelt  down,  but  this  passed  off  soon,  and  one  by 
one  all  the  other  boys  but  three  or  four  followed  the  lead.  I  fear 
that  this  was  in  some  measure  owing  to  the  fact  that  Tom  could 
probably  have  thrashed  any  boy  in  the  room  except  the  pnepostor; 
at  any  rate,  every  boy  knew  that  he  would  try  upon  very  slight 
provocation,  and  didn't  choose  to  run  the  risk  of  a  hard  fight 
because  Tom  Brown  had  taken  a  fancy  to  say  his  prayers.  Some 
of  the  small  boys  of  Number  4  communicated  the  new  state  of 
things  to  their  chums,  and  in  several  other  rooms  the  poor  little 
fello\vs  tried  it  on;  in  one  instance  or  so  where  the  praepostor 
heard  of  it  and  interfered  very  decidedly,  with  partial  success; 
but  in  the  rest,  after  a  short  struggle,  the  confessors  were  bullied 

[222] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 


or  laughed  down,  and  the  old  state  of  things  went  on  for  some 
time  longer.  Before  either  Tom  Brown  or  Arthur  left  the  School- 
house  there  was  no  room  in  which  it  had  not  hecome  the  regular 
custom.  I  trust  it  is  so  still,  and  that  the  old  heathen  state  of 
things  has  gone  out  forever. 


TOM    BROWN'S 


K^— --— ^^^^"^ 


CHAPTER  II 


THE     NEW     BOY 

"And  Heaven's  rich  instincts  in  him  grew, 
As  effortless  as  woodland  nooks 
Send  violets  up  and  paint  them  blue." — Lowell. 

DO  not  mean  to  recount  all  the  little  troubles 
and  annoyances  which  thronged  upon  Tom  at 
the  beginning  of  this  half-year,  in  his  new 
character  of  bear-leader  to  a  gentle  little  boy 
straight  from  home.  He  seemed  to  himself  to 
have  become  a  new  boy  again,  without  any  of 
the  long  suffering  and  meekness  indispensable 
for  supporting  that  character  with  moderate  success.  From 
morning  till  night  he  had  the  feeling  of  responsibility  on  his  mind; 
and  even  if  he  left  Arthur  in  their  study  or  in  the  close  for  an 
hour,  was  never  at  ease  till   he  had   him   in   sight  again.     He 

[224] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

waited  for  him  at  the  doors  of"  the  school  after  every  lesson  and 
every  calling-over;  watched  that  no  tricks  were  played  him,  and 
none  hut  the  regulation  questions  asked;  kept  his  eye  on  his 
plate  at  dinner  and  hreakfast,  to  see  that  no  unfair  depredations 
were  made  upon  his  viands;  in  short,  as  East  remarked,  cackled 
after  him  like  a  hen  with  one  chick. 

Arthur  took  a  long  time  thawing,  too,  which  made  it  all  th<. 
harder  work;  was  sadly  timid;  scarcely  ever  spoke  unless  Tom 
spoke  to  him  first;  and,  worst  of  all,  would  agree  with  him  in 
everything,  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  for  a  Brown  to  bear. 
He  got  quite  angry  sometimes,  as  they  sat  together  of  a  night  in 
their  study,  at  this  provoking  hahit  of  agreement,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  breaking  out  a  do/en  times  with  a  lecture  upon  the 
propriety  of  a  fellow  having  a  will  of  his  own  and  speaking  out; 
but  managed  to  restrain  himself  by  the  thought  that  it  might  only 
friiihten  Arthur,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  lesson  he  had 
learned  from  him  on  his  first  night  at  Number  4.  Then  he  would 
resolve  to  sit  still,  and  not  say  a  word  till  Arthur  began;  but  he 
was  always  beat  at  that  game,  and  had  presently  to  begin  talking 
in  despair,  fearing  lest  Arthur  might  think  he  was  vexed  at  some- 
thing if  he  didn't,  and  dog-tired  of  sitting  tongue-tied. 

It  was  hard  work!  But  Tom  had  taken  it  up,  and  meant  to 
stick  to  it,  and  go  through  with  it,  so  as  to  satisfy  himself;  in 
which  resolution  he  was  much  assisted  by  the  chaffing  of  East 
and  his  other  old  friends,  who  began  to  call  him  "dry-nurse," 
and  otherwise  to  break  their  small  wit  on  him.  But  when  they 
took  other  ground,  as  they  did  every  now  and  then,  Tom  was 
sorely  puzzled. 

"Tell  you  what.  Tommy,"  East  would  say,  "you'll  spoil  young 
Hopeful  witli  too  much  coddling.  Why  can't  }ou  let  him  go 
about  by  himself  and  find  his  own  level .?  He'll  never  be  worth 
a  button,  if  you  go  on  keeping  him  under  your  skirts." 

"Well,  but  he  ain't  fit  to  fight  his  own  way  yet;  I'm  trying  to 
get  him  to  it  every  day — but  he's  very  odd.     Poor  little  beggar! 


TOM    BROWN'S 

I  can't  make  him  out  a  bit.  He  ain't  a  bit  like  anything  I've  ever 
seen  or  heard  of — he  seems  all  over  nerves;  anything  you  say 
seems  to  hurt  him  like  a  cut  or  a  blow." 

"That  sort  of  boy's  no  use  here,"  said  East,  "he'll  only  spoil. 
Nov\^,  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do.  Tommy.  Go  and  get  a  nice  large 
band-box  made,  and  put  him  in  with  plenty  of  cotton  wool,  and  a 
pap-bottle,  labelled  'With  care — this  side  up,'  and  send  him  back 


to  mamma." 


"I  think  I  shall  make  a  hand  of  him,  though,"  said  Tom, 
smiling,  "say  what  you  will.  There's  something  about  him, 
every  now  and  then,  which  shows  me  he's  got  pluck  somewhere 
in  him.  That's  the  only  thing  after  all  that  '11  wash,  ain't  it,  old 
Scud  .?     But  how  to  get  at  it  and  bring  it  out  r' 

Tom  took  one  hand  out  of  his  breeches-pocket  and  stuck  it  in 
his  back  hair  for  a  scratch,  giving  his  hat  a  tilt  over  his  nose,  his 
one  method  of  invoking  wisdom.  He  stared  at  the  ground  with 
a  ludicrously  puzzled  look,  and  presently  looked  up  and  met 
East's  eyes.  That  young  gentleman  slapped  him  on  the  back, 
and  then  put  his  arm  round  his  shoulder,  as  they  strolled  through 
the  quadrangle  together.  "Tom,"  said  he,  "blest  if  you  ain't 
the  best  old  fellow  ever  was — I  do  like  to  see  you  go  into  a  thing. 
Hang  it,  I  wish  I  could  take  things  as  you  do — but  I  never  can 
get  higher  than  a  joke.  Everything's  a  joke.  If  I  was  going  to 
be  flogged  next  minute,  I  should  be  in  a  blue  funk,  but  I  couldn't 
help  laughing  at  it  for  the  life  of  me." 

"  Brown  and  East,  you  go  and  fag  for  Jones  on  the  great  fives'- 


court." 


"Hullo,  though,  that's  past  a  joke,"  broke  out  East,  springing 
at  the  young  gentleman  who  addressed  them,  and  catching  him  by 
the  collar.  "  Here,  Tommy,  catch  hold  of  him  t'other  side  before 
he  can  holla." 

The  youth  was  seized,  and  dragged  struggling  out  of  the  quad- 
rangle into  the  School-house  hall.  He  was  one  of  the  miserable  lit- 
tle, pretty,  white-handed,  curly-headed  boys,  petted  and  pampered 

[226] 


"BLEST   IF  YOU  AIN'T  THE   BEST  OLD   FELLOW  EVER 

WAS" 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

by  some  of  the  big  fellows,  who  wrote  their  verses  for  them,  taught 
them  to  drink  and  use  bad  language,  and  did  nil  they  could  to 
spoil  them  for  everything*  in  this  world  and  the  next.  One  of  the 
avocations  in  which  these  young  gentlemen  took  particular  delight 
was  in  going  about  and  getting  fags  for  their  protectors,  when  those 
heroes  were  playing  any  game.  They  carried  about  pencil  and 
paper  with  them,  putting  down  the  names  of  all  the  boys  they 
sent,  always  sending  five  times  as  many  as  were  wanted,  and 
getting  all  those  thrashed  who  didn't  go.  The  present  youth 
belonged  to  a  house  which  was  very  jealous  of  the  School-house, 
and  always  picked  out  School-house  fags  when  he  could  find  them. 
However,  this  time  he'd  got  the  wrong  sow  by  the  ear.  His  cap- 
tors slammed  the  great  door  of  the  hall,  and  East  put  his  back 
against  it,  while  Tom  gave  the  prisoner  a  shake-up,  took  away 
his  list,  and  stood  him  up  on  the  floor,  while  he  proceeded  leisurely 
to  examine  that  document. 

"Let  me  out,  let  me  go!"  screamed  the  boy,  in  a  furious  passion. 
"I'll  go  and  tell  Jones  this  minute,  and  he'll  give  you  both  the 
thrashing  you  ever  had." 

"Pretty  little  dear,"  said  East,  patting  the  top  of  his  hat;  "hark 
how  he  swears,  Tom.  Nicely  brought-up  young  man,  ain't  he  ? 
I  don't  think." 

"Let  me  alone, you,"  roared    he  boy,  foaming  with  rage, 

and  kicking  at  East,  who  quietly  tripped  him  up,  and  deposited 
him  on  the  floor  in  a  place  of  safety. 

"Gently,  young  fellow,"  said  he;  "'taint  improving  for  little 
whippersnappers  like  you  to  be  indulging  in  blasphemy;  so  you 
stop  that,  or  you'll  get  something  }ou  won't  like." 

"I'll  have  you  both  licked  when  I  get  out,  that  I  will,  rejoined 
the  boy,  beginning  to  snivel. 

"Two  can  play  at  that  game,  mind  you,"  said  Tom,  who  had 

*  A  kind  and  wise  critic,  an  old  Rugbaean,  notes  here  in  the  margin:  "The 
small  friend  system  was  not  so  utterly  bad  from  1841-1847."  Before  that, 
too,  there  were  many  noble  friendships  between  big  and  little  boys,  but  I  can't 
strike  out  the  passage;  many  boys  will  know  why  it  is  left  in. 

[229] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

finished  his  examination  of  the  list.  "Now  you  just  listen  here. 
We've  just  come  across  the  fives'-court,  and  Jones  has  four  fags 
there  already,  two  more  than  he  wants.  If  he'd  wanted  us  to 
change,  he'd  have  stopped  us  himself.  And  here,  you  little  black- 
guard, you've  got  seven  names  down  on  your  list  besides  ours, 
and  five  of  them  School-house."  Tom  walked  up  to  him  and 
jerked  him  onto  his  legs;  he  was  by  this  time  whining  like  a 
whipped  puppy. 

"Now  just  listen  to  me.  We  ain't  going  to  fag  for  Jones.  If 
you  tell  him  you've  sent  us,  we'll  each  of  us  give  you  such  a  thrash- 
ing as  you'll  remember."  And  Tom  tore  up  the  list  and  threw 
the  pieces  into  the  fire. 

"And  mind  you,  too,'*  said  East,  "don't  let  me  catch  you  again 
sneaking  about  the  School-house,  and  picking  up  our  fags.  You 
haven't  got  the  sort  of  hide  to  take  a  sound  licking  kindly";  and 
he  opened  the  door  and  sent  the  young  gentleman  flying  into  the 
quadrangle,  with  a  parting  kick. 

"Nice  boy.  Tommy,"  said  East,  shoving  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  strolling  to  the  fire. 

"Worst  sort  we  breed,"  responded  Tom,  following  his  example. 
"Thank  goodness,  no  big  fellow  ever  took  to  petting  me." 

"You'd  never  have  been  like  that,"  said  East.  "I  should  like 
to  have  put  him  in  a  museum;  Christian  young  gentleman,  nine- 
teenth century,  highly  educated.  Stir  him  up  with  a  long  pole. 
Jack,  and  hear  him  swear  like  a  drunken  sailor!  He'd  make  a  re- 
spectable public  open  its  eyes,  I  think." 

"Think  he'll  tell  Jones.?"  said  Tom. 

"No,"  said  East.     "Don't  care  if  he  does." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Tom.     And  they  went  back  to  talk  about  Arthur. 

The  young  gentleman  had  brains  enough  not  to  tell  Jones, 
reasoning  that  East  and  Brown,  who  were  noted  as  two  of  the 
toughest  fags  in  the  school,  wouldn't  care  three  straws  for  any 
licking  Jones  might  give  them,  and  would  be  likely  to  keep  their 
words  as  to  passing  it  on  with  interest. 

[230] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

After  the  above  conversation,  East  came  a  good  deal  to  their 
study,  and  took  notice  of  Arthur;  and  soon  allowed  to  Tom  that 
he  was  a  thorough  little  gentleman,  and  would  get  over  his  shyness 
all  in  good  time;  which  much  comforted  our  hero.  He  felt  every 
day,  too,  the  value  of  having  an  object  in  his  life,  something  that 
drew  him  out  of  himself;  and,  it  being  the  dull  time  of  the  year, 
and  no  games  going  about  which  he  much  cared,  was  happier 
than  he  had  ever  yet  been  at  school,  which  was  saying  a  great  deal. 

The  time  which  Tom  allowed  himself  away  from  his  charge, 
was  from  locking-up  till  supper-time.  During  this  hour  or  hour 
and  a  half  he  used  to  take  his  fling,  going  round  to  the  studies  of 
all  his  acquaintance,  sparring  or  gossiping  in  the  hall,  now  jumping 
the  old  iron-bound  tables,  or  carving  a  bit  of  his  name  on  them, 
then  joining  in  some  chorus  of  merry  voices;  in  fact,  blowing  off 
his  steam,  as  we  should  now  call  it. 

This  process  was  so  congenial  to  his  temper,  and  Arthur  showed 
himself  so  pleased  at  the  arrangement,  that  it  was  several  weeks 
before  Tom  was  ever  in  their  study  before  supper.  One  evening, 
however,  he  rushed  in  to  look  for  an  old  chisel,  or  some  corks,  or 
other  articles  essential  to  his  pursuit  for  the  time  being,  and  while 
rummaging  about  in  the  cupboards,  looked  up  for  a  moment,  and 
was  caught  at  once  by  the  figure  of  poor  little  Arthur.  The  boy 
was  sitting  with  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  his  head  leaning  on 
his  hands,  and  before  him  an  open  book,  on  which  his  tears  w^ere 
falling  fast.  Tom  shut  the  door  at  once,  and  sat  down  on  the 
sofa  by  Arthur,  putting  his  arm  round  his  neck. 

"Why,  young  un!  what's  the  matter.?"  said  he,  kindly;  "you 
ain't  unhappy,  are  you  ?" 

"Oh  no,  Brown,"  said  the  little  boy,  looking  up  with  the  great 
tears  in  his  eyes,  "you  are  so  kind  to  me,  I'm  very  happy." 

"  Why  don't  you  call  me  Tom  ^  Lots  of  boys  do  that  I  don't 
like  half  so  much  as  you.  What  are  you  reading,  then  f  Hang 
it,  you  must  come  about  with  me,  and  not  mope  yourself,"  and 
Tom  cast  down  his  eyes  on  the  book,  and  saw  it  was  the  Bible. 

[231] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  thought  to  himself,  "Lesson 
Number  2,  Tom  Brown" — and  then  said,  gently: 

"I'm  very  glad  to  see  this,  Arthur,  and  ashamed  that  I  don't 
read  the  Bible  more  myself.  Do  you  read  it  every  night  before 
supper  while  I'm  out  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  wish  you'd  wait  till  afterward,  and  then  we'd  read 
together.     But,  Arthur,  why  does  it  make  you  cry  ?" 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that  I'm  unhappy.  But  at  home,  while  my  father 
was  alive,  we  always  read  the  lessons  after  tea;  and  I  love  to  read 
them  over  now,  and  try  to  remember  what  he  said  about  them.  I 
can't  remember  all,  and  I  think  I  scarcely  understand  a  great 
deal  of  what  I  do  remember.  But  it  all  comes  back  to  me  so 
fresh,  that  I  can't  help  crying  sometimes  to  think  I  shall  never 
read  them  again  with  him." 

Arthur  had  never  spoken  of  his  home  before,  and  Tom  hadn't 
encouraged  him  to  do  so,  as  his  blundering  school-boy  reasoning 
made  him  think  that  Arthur  would  be  softened  and  less  manly 
for  thinking  of  home.  But  now  he  was  fairly  interested,  and  for- 
got all  about  chisels  and  bottled  beer;  while  with  very  little  en- 
couragement Arthur  launched  into  his  home  history,  and  the 
prayer-bell  put  them  both  out  sadly  when  it  rang  to  call  them 
to  the  hall. 

From  this  time  Arthur  constantly  spoke  of  his  home,  and  above 
all,  of  his  father,  who  had  been  dead  about  a  year,  and  whose 
memory  Tom  soon  got  to  love  and  reverence  almost  as  much  as 
his  own  son  did. 

Arthur's  father  had  been  the  clergyman  of  a  parish  in  the  Mid- 
land Counties,  which  had  risen  into  a  large  town  during  the  war, 
and  upon  which  the  hard  years  which  followed  had  fallen  with  a 
fearful  weight.  The  trade  had  been  half  ruined;  and  then  came 
the  old  sad  story  of  masters  reducing  their  establishments,  men 
turned  off  and  wandering  about,  hungry  and  wan  in  body  and 
tierce  in  soul,  from  the  thought  of  wives  and  children  starving 

[232] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

at  home,  and  the  last  sticks  of  furniture  goin<];  to  the  pawn-shop. 
Children  taken  from  school,  and  lounging  about  the  dirty  streets 
and  courts,  too  listless  almost  to  play,  and  squalid  in  rags  and 
misery.  And  then  the  fearful  struggle  between  the  employers 
and  men;  lowerings  of  wages,  strikes,  and  the  long  course  of  oft- 
repeated  crime,  ending  every  now  and  then  with  a  riot,  a  fire,  and 
the  county  yeomanry.  There  is  no  need  here  to  dwell  upon  such 
tales;  the  Englishman  into  whose  soul  they  have  not  sunk  deep 
is  not  worthy  the  name;  you  English  boys  for  whom  this  book  is 
meant  (God  bless  your  bright  faces  and  kind  hearts!)  will  learn 
it  all  soon  enough. 

Into  such  a  parish  and  state  of  society  Arthur's  father  had  been 
thrown  at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  a  young  married  parson,  full  of 
faith,  hope,  and  love.  He  had  battled  with  it  like  a  man,  and  had 
lots  of  fine  Utopian  ideas  about  the  perfectibility  of  mankind, 
glorious  humanity  and  such-like,  knocked  out  of  his  head;  and 
a  real  wholesome  Christian  love  for  the  poor  struggling,  sinning 
men,  of  \vhom  he  felt  himself  one,  and  with  and  for  whom  he 
spent  fortune,  and  strength,  and  life,  driven  into  his  heart.  He 
had  battled  like  a  man,  and  gotten  a  man's  reward.  No  silver 
teapots  or  salvers,  with  flowery  inscriptions,  setting  forth  his 
virtues  and  the  appreciation  of  a  genteel  parish;  no  fat  living  or 
stall,  for  which  he  never  looked,  and  didn't  care;  no  sighs  and 
praises  of  comfortable  dowagers  and  well-got-up  young  women, 
who  worked  him  slippers,  sugared  his  tea,  and  adored  him  as  "a 
devoted  man";  but  a  manly  respect,  wrung  from  the  unwilling 
souls  of  men  who  fancied  his  order  their  natural  enemies;  the 
fear  and  hatred  of  every  one  who  was  false  or  unjust  in  the  dis- 
trict, were  he  master  or  man;  and  the  blessed  sight  of  women  and 
children  daily  becoming  more  human  and  more  homely,  a  comfort 
to  themselves  and  to  their  husbands  and  fathers. 

These  things  of  course  took  time,  and  had  to  be  fought  for 
with  toil  and  sweat  of  brain  and  heart,  and  with  the  life-blood 
poured  out.  All  that,  Arthur  had  laid  his  account  to  give,  and 
17  [  233  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

took  as  a  matter  of  course;  neither  pitying  himself,  nor  looking 
on  himself  as  a  martyr,  when  he  felt  the  wear  and  tear  making 
him  feel  old  before  his  time,  and  the  stifling  air  of  fever  dens  tell- 
ing on  his  health.  His  wife  seconded  him  In  everything.  She 
had  been  rather  fond  of  society,  and  much  admired  and  run  after 
before  her  marriage;  and  the  London  world,  to  which  she  had 
belonged,  pitied  poor  Fanny  Evelyn  when  she  married  the  young 
clergyman  and  went  to  settle  In  that  smoky  hole  Turley,  a  very 
nest  of  Chartism  and  Atheism,  In  a  part  of  the  county  which  all 
the  decent  families  had  had  to  leave  for  years.  However,  some- 
how or  other  she  didn't  seem  to  care.  If  her  husband's  living 
had  been  among  green  fields  and  near  pleasant  neighbors,  she 
would  have  liked  It  better,  that  she  never  pretended  to  deny. 
But  there  they  were;  the  air  wasn't  bad  after  all;  the  people 
were  very  good  sort  of  people,  civil  to  you  If  you  were  civil  to 
them,  after  the  first  brush;  and  they  didn't  expect  to  work 
miracles,  and  convert  them  all  off-hand  Into  model  Christians. 
So  he  and  she  went  quietly  among  the  folk,  talking  to  and  treat- 
ing them  just  as  they  would  have  done  people  of  their  own  rank. 
They  didn't  feel  that  they  were  doing  anything  out  of  the  com- 
mon way,  and  so  were  perfectly  natural,  and  had  none  of  that 
condescension  or  consciousness  of  manner  which  so  outrages  the 
independent  poor.  And  thus  they  gradually  won  respect  and 
confidence;  and  after  sixteen  years  he  was  looked  up  to  by  the 
whole  neighborhood  as  the  just  man,  the  man  to  whom  masters 
and  men  could  go  In  their  strikes,  and  all  In  their  quarrels  and 
difficulties,  and  by  whom  the  right  and  true  word  would  be  said 
without  fear  or  favor.  And  the  women  had  come  round  to  take 
her  advice,  and  go  to  her  as  a  friend  In  all  their  troubles;  while 
the  children  all  worshipped  the  very  ground  she  trod  on. 

They  had  three  children,  two  daughters  and  a  son,  little  Arthur, 
who  came  between  his  sisters.  He  had  been  a  very  delicate  boy 
from  his  childhood;  they  thought  he  had  a  tendency  to  con- 
sumption, and  so  he  had  been  kept  at  home  and  taught  by  his 

[234] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

father,  who  had  made  a  companion  of  him,  and  from  whom  he 
had  gained  good  scholarship,  and  a  knowledge  of  and  interest 
in  many  subjects  which  hoys  in  general  never  come  across  till 
they  are  many  years  older. 

Just  as  he  reached  his  thirteenth  year,  and  his  father  had  settled 
that  he  was  strong  enough  to  go  to  school,  and,  after  much  de- 
bating with  himself,  had  resolved  to  send  him  there,  a  desperate 
typhus  fever  broke  out  in  the  town;  most  of  the  other  clergy,  and 
almost  all  the  doctors,  ran  away;  the  work  fell  with  tenfold  weight 
on  those  who  stood  to  their  work.  Arthur  and  his  wife  both 
caught  the  fever,  of  which  he  died  in  a  few  days,  and  she  recovered, 
having  been  able  to  nurse  him  to  the  end,  and  store  up  his  last 
words.  He  was  sensible  to  the  last,  and  calm  and  happy,  leaving 
his  wife  and  children  with  fearless  trust  for  a  few  years  in  the 
hands  of  the  Lord  and  Friend  who  had  lived  and  died  for  him, 
and  for  whom  he,  to  the  best  of  his  power,  had  lived  and  died. 
His  widow's  mourning  was  deep  and  gentle;  she  was  more  affected 
by  the  request  of  the  committee  of  a  Freethinking  Club,  estab- 
lished in  the  town  by  some  of  the  factory  hands  (which  he  had 
striven  against  with  might  and  main,  and  nearly  suppressed),  that 
some  of  their  number  might  be  allowed  to  help  bear  the  coffin, 
than  by  anything  else.  Two  of  them  were  chosen,  who  with  six 
other  laboring  men,  his  own  fellow-workmen  and  friends,  bore 
him  to  his  grave — a  man  who  had  fought  the  Lord's  fight  even 
unto  the  death.  The  shops  were  closed  and  the  factories  shut 
that  day  in  the  parish,  yet  no  master  stopped  the  day's  wages; 
but  for  many  a  year  afterward  the  townsfolk  felt  the  want  of  that 
brave,  hopeful,  loving  parson,  and  his  wife,  who  had  lived  to  teach 
them  mutual  forbearance  and  helpfulness,  and  had  ahnost  at  last 
given  them  a  glimpse  of  what  this  old  world  would  be  if  people 
would  live  for  God  and  each  other,  instead  of  for  themselves 

What  has  all  this  to  do  with  our  story .?  Well,  my  dear  boys, 
let  a  fellow  go  on  his  own  way,  or  you  won't  get  anything  out  of 
him  worth  having.     I  must  show  you  what  sort  of  a  man  it  w^as 


TOM    BROWN'S 

who  had  begotten  and  trained  Httle  Arthur,  or  else  you  won't 
beheve  in  him,  which  I  am  resolved  you  shall  do;  and  you  won't 
see  how  he,  the  timid,  weak  boy,  had  points  in  him  from  which 
the  bravest  and  strongest  recoiled,  and  made  his  presence  and 
example  felt  from  the  first  on  all  sides,  unconsciously  to  himself, 
and  without  the  least  attempt  at  proselytizing.  The  spirit  of  his 
father  was  in  him,  and  the  Friend  to  whom  his  father  had  left 
him  did  not  neglect  the  trust. 

After  supper  that  night,  and  almost  nightly  for  years  afterward, 
Tom  and  Arthur,  and  by  degrees  East  occasionally,  and  some- 
times one,  sometimes  another,  of  their  friends,  read  a  chapter  of 
the  Bible  together,  and  talked  it  over  afterward.  Tom  was  at 
first  utterly  astonished,  and  almost  shocked,  at  the  sort  of  way  in 
which  Arthur  read  the  book,  and  talked  about  the  men  and  women 
whose  lives  were  there  told.  The  first  night  they  happened  to  fall 
on  the  chapters  about  the  famine  in  Egypt,  and  Arthur  began 
talking  about  Joseph  as  if  he  were  a  living  statesman;  just  as  he 
might  have  talked  about  Lord  Grey  and  the  Reform  Bill;  only 
that  they  were  much  more  living  realities  to  him.  The  book  was 
to  him,  Tom  saw,  the  most  vivid  and  delightful  history  of  real 
people,  who  might  do  right  or  w^rong,  just  like  any  one  who  was 
walking  about  in  Rugby — the  Doctor,  or  the  masters,  or  the  sixth- 
form  boys.  But  the  astonishment  soon  passed  off,  the  scales 
seemed  to  drop  from  his  eyes,  and  the  book  became  at  once  and 
forever  to  him  the  great  human  and  divine  book,  and  the  men  and 
women,  whom  he  had  looked  upon  as  something  quite  diff'erent 
from  himself,  became  his  friends  and  counsellors. 

For  our  purposes,  however,  the  history  of  one  night's  reading 
will  be  sufficient,  which  must  be  told  here,  now  we  are  on  the  sub- 
ject, though  it  didn't  happen  till  a  year  afterward,  and  long  after 
the  events  recorded  in  the  next  chapter  of  our  story. 

Arthur,  Tom,  and  East  were  together  one  night,  and  read  the 
story  of  Naaman  coming  to  Elisha  to  be  cured  of  his  leprosy. 
When  the  chapter  was  finished,  Tom  shut  his  Bible  with  a  slap. 

[236] 


TOM  SHUT  HIS   BIBLE  WITH    A  SLAP 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"I  can't  Stand  that  fellow  Naaman,"  said  he,  "after  what  he'd 
seen  and  felt,  going  back  and  bowing  himself  down  in  the  house 
of  Riminon,  because  his  effeminate  scoundrel  of  a  master  did  it. 
I  wonder  Elisha  took  the  trouble  to  heal  him.  How  he  must 
have  despised  him!" 

"Yes,  there  you  go  off  as  usual,  w^th  a  shell  on  your  head," 
struck  in  East,  who  always  took  the  opposite  side  to  Tom;  half 
from  love  of  argument,  half  from  conviction.  "How  do  'you 
know  he  didn't  think  better  of  it.?  how  do  you  know  his  master 
was  a  scoundrel .?  His  letter  don't  look  like  it,  and  the  book  don't 
say  so." 

"I  don't  care,"  rejoined  Tom;  "why  did  Naaman  talk  about 
bowing  down,  then,  if  he  didn't  mean  to  do  it  ^  He  wasn't  likely 
to  get  more  in  earnest  when  he  got  back  to  court,  and  away  from 
the  prophet." 

"Well,  but,  Tom,"  said  Arthur,  "look  what  Elisha  says  to 
him:  'Go  in  peace.'  He  wouldn't  have  said  that  if  Naaman  had 
been  in  the  wrong." 

"1  don't  see  that  that  means  more  than  saying,  'You're  not 
the  man  I  took  you  for.'" 

"No,  no,  that  won't  do  at  all,"  said  East;  "read  the  words 
fairly,  and  take  men  as  you  find  them.  I  like  Naaman,  and 
think  he  was  a  very  fine  fellow." 

"I  don't,"  said  Tom,  positively. 

"Well,  I  think  East  is  right,"  said  Arthur;  "I  can't  see  but 
what  it's  right  to  do  the  best  you  can,  though  it  mayn't  be  the 
best  absolutely.     Every  man  isn't  born  to  be  a  martyr." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  said  East;  "but  he's  on  one  of  his  pet 
hobbies.  How  often  have  I  told  you,  Tom,  that  you  must  drive 
a  nail  where  it  will  go  ?" 

"And  how  often  have  I  told  you,"  rejoined  Tom,  "that  it'll 
always  go  where  you  want,  if  you  only  stick  to  it  and  hit  hard 
enough  ?     I  hate  half  measures  and  corr  promises." 

"Yes,  he's  a  whole-hog  man,  is  Tom.     Must  have  the  whole 

[  239  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

animal,  hair  and  teeth,  claws  and  tail,"  laughed  East.  "Sooner 
have  no  bread  any  day  than  half  the  loaf." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Arthur,  "it's  rather  puzzling;  but  ain't 
most  right  things  got  by  proper  compromises,  I  mean  where  the 
principle  isn't  given  up  ?" 

"That's  just  the  point,"  said  Tom;  "I  don't  object  to  a  com- 
promise where  you  don't  give  up  your  principle." 

"Not  you,"  said  East,  laughingly.  "I  know  him  of  old, 
Arthur,  and  you'll  find  him  out  some  day.  There  isn't  such  a 
reasonable  fellow  in  the  world,  to  hear  him  talk.  He  never  wants 
anything  but  what's  right  and  fair;  only  when  you  come  to  settle 
what's  right  and  fair,  it's  everything  that  he  wants,  and  nothing 
that  you  want.  And  that's  his  idea  of  a  compromise.  Give  me 
the  Brown  compromise  when  I'm  on  his  side." 

"Now,  Harry,"  said  Tom,  "no  more  chafi* — I'm  serious. 
Look  here — this  is  what  makes  my  blood  tingle";  and  he  turned 
over  the  pages  of  his  Bible  and  read:  "Shadrach,  Meshach,  and 
Abednego  answered  and  said  to  the  king,  'O  Nebuchadnezzar, 
we  are  not  careful  to  answer  thee  in  this  matter.  If  it  be  so,  our 
God  whom  we  serve  is  able  to  deliver  us  from  the  burning  fiery 
furnace,  and  He  will  deliver  us  out  of  thine  hand,  O  king.  But 
if  not,  be  it  known  unto  thee,  O  king,  that  we  will  not  serve  thy 
gods,  nor  worship  the  golden  image  which  thou  hast  set  up.'  "  He 
read  the  last  verse  twice,  emphasizing  the  nots,  and  dwelling  on 
them  as  if  they  gave  him  actual  pleasure,  and  were  hard  to  part 
with. 

They  were  silent  a  minute,  and  then  Arthur  said,  "Yes,  that's 
a  glorious  story,  but  it  don't  prove  your  point,  Tom,  I  think. 
There  are  times  when  there  is  only  one  way,  and  that  the  highest, 
and  then  the  men  are  found  to  stand  in  the  breach." 

"There's  always  a  highest  way,  and  it's  always  the  right  one," 
said  Tom.  "How  many  times  has  the  Doctor  told  us  that  in  his 
sermons  in  the  last  year,  I  should  like  to  know .?" 

"Well,  you  ain't   going  to   convince  us,  is   he,  Arthur.?     No 

[240] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

Brown  compromise  to-night,"  said  East,  looking  at  his  watch. 
"But  it's  past  eiglit,  and  we  must  go  to  first  lesson.  Wliat  a 
bore!" 

So  they  took  down  their  books  and  fell  to  work;  hut  Arthur 
didn't  forget,  and  thought  long  and  often  over  the  conver- 
sation. 


TOM    BROWN'S 


ARTHUR   MAKES    A    FRIEND 

"Let  Nature  be  your  teacher: 
Sweet  is  the  lore  which  Nature  brings; 
Our  meddhng  intellect 
Mis-shapes  the  beauteous  form  of  things 
We  murder  to  dissect — 
Enough  of  Science  and  of  Art; 
Close  up  those  barren  leaves; 
Come  forth,  and  bring  with  you  a  heart 
That  watches  and  receives." — Wordsworth. 

"^BOUT  six  weeks  after  the  beginning  of  the 
half,  as  Tom  and  Arthur  were  sitting  one  night 
before  supper  beginning  their  verses,  Arthur 
suddenly  stopped,  and  looked  up,  and  said: 
"Tom,  do  you  know  anything  of  Martin  .?" 
"Yes,"  said  Tom,  taking  his  hand  out  of 
^  his  back  hair,  and  delighted  to  throw  his 
Gradus  ad  Parnassum  onto  the  sofa;  "I  know  him  pretty  well. 
He's  a  very  good  fellow,  but  as  mad  as  a  batter.     He's  called  Mad- 

[242] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

man,  you  know.  And  never  was  such  a  fellow  tor  getting  all 
sorts  of  rum  things  about  him.  He  tamed  two  snakes  last  half, 
and  used  to  carry  them  about  in  his  pocket,  and  I'll  be  bound  he's 
got  some  hedgehogs  and  rats  in  his  cupboard  now,  and  no  one 
knows  what  besides." 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  know  him,"  said  Arthur;  "he  was 
next  to  me  in  the  form  to-day,  and  he'd  lost  his  book  and  looked 
over  mine,  and  he  seemed  so  kind  and  gentle,  that  I  liked  him 
very  much." 

"Ah,  poor  old  Madman,  he's  always  losing  his  books,"  said 
Tom,  "and  getting  called  up  and  floored  because  he  hasn't  got 
them." 

"I  like  him  all  the  better,"  said  Arthur. 

"Well,  he's  great  fun,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Tom,  throwing  him- 
self back  on  the  sofa,  and  chuckling  at  the  remembrance.  "We 
had  such  a  game  with  him  one  day  last  half.  He  had  been  kicking 
up  horrid  stinks  for  some  time  in  his  study,  till  I  suppose  some 
fellow  told  Mary,  and  she  told  the  Doctor.  Anyhow,  one  day  a 
little  before  dinner,  when  he  came  down  from  the  library,  the 
Doctor,  instead  of  going  home,  came  striding  into  the  hall.  East 
and  I  and  five  or  six  other  fellows  were  at  the  fire,  and  preciously 
we  stared,  for  he  don't  come  in  like  that  once  a  year,  unless  it  is 
a  wet  day  and  there's  a  fight  in  the  hall.  'East,'  says  he,  *just 
come  and  show  me  Martin's  study.'  *Oh,  here's  a  game,'  whis- 
pered the  rest  of  us,  and  we  all  cut  up-stairs  after  the  Doctor, 
East  leading.  As  we  got  into  the  New  Row,  which  was  hardly 
wide  enough  to  hold  the  Doctor  and  his  gown,  click,  click, 
click,  we  heard  in  the  old  Madman's  den.  Then  that  stopped 
all  of  a  sudden,  and  the  bolts  went  to  like  fun:  the  Mad- 
man knew  East's  step,  and  thought  there  was  going  to  be  a 
siege. 

"*It's  the  Doctor,  Martin.  He's  here  and  wants  to  see  you,' 
sings  out  East. 

"Then  the  bolts  went  back  slowly,  and  the  door  opened,  and 

[243] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

there  was  the  old  Madman  standing,  looking  precious  scared; 
his  jacket  off,  his  shirt-sleeves  up  to  his  elbows,  and  his  long, 
skinny  arms  all  covered  with  anchors  and  arrows  and  letters, 
tattooed  in  with  gunpowder  like  a  sailor-boy's,  and  a  stink  fit  to 
knock  you  down  coming  out.  'Twas  all  the  Doctor  could  do  to 
stand  his  ground,  and  East  and  I,  who  were  looking  in  under  his 
arms,  held  our  noses  tight.  The  old  magpie  was  standing  on  the 
window-sill,  all  his  feathers  drooping,  and  looking  disgusted  and 
half-poisoned. 

"'What  can  you  be  about,  Martin?'  says  the  Doctor;  *you 
really  mustn't  go  on  in  this  way — you're  a  nuisance  to  the  whole 
passage.' 

"'Please,  sir,  I  was  only  mixing  up  this  powder,  there  isn't 
any  harm  in  it';  and  the  Madman  seized  nervously  on  his  pestle 
and  mortar,  to  show  the  Doctor  the  harmlessness  of  his  pursuits, 
and  went  off  pounding;  click,  click,  click;  he  hadn't  given  six 
clicks  before — puff!  up  went  the  whole  into  a  great  blaze,  away 
went  the  pestle  and  mortar  across  the  study,  and  back  we  tumbled 
into  the  passage.  The  magpie  fluttered  down  into  the  court, 
swearing,  and  the  Madman  danced  out,  howling,  with  his  fingers 
in  his  mouth.  The  Doctor  caught  hold  of  him,  and  called  to  us 
to  fetch  some  water.  'There,  you  silly  fellow,'  said  he,  quite 
pleased,  though,  to  find  he  wasn't  much  hurt,  'you  see  you  don't 
know  the  least  what  you're  doing  with  all  these  things;  and  now, 
mind,  you  must  give  up  practising  chemistry  by  yourself.'  Then 
he  took  hold  of  his  arm  and  looked  at  it,  and  I  saw  he  had  to  bite 
his  lip,  and  his  eyes  twinkled;  but  he  said,  quite  grave,  'Here, 
you  see,  you've  been  making  all  these  foolish  marks  on  yourself, 
which  you  can  never  get  out,  and  you'll  be  very  sorry  for  it  in  a 
year  or  two:  now  come  down  to  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  let 
us  see  if  you  are  hurt.'  And  away  went  the  two,  and  we  all 
stayed  and  had  a  regular  turnout  of  the  den,  till  Martin  came  back 
with  his  hand  bandaged  and  turned  us  out.  However,  I'll  go 
and  see  what  he's  after,  and  tell  him  to  come  in  after  prayers  to 

[244] 


\  -  >'<'?yfM 


■WHAT  CAN  YOU   BE  ABOUT,  MARTIN?" 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

supper."     And  away  went  Tom  to  find  the  boy  in  question,  who 
dwelt  in  a  little  study  by  himself,  in  New  Row, 

The  af  resaid  Martin,  whom  Arthur  had  taken  such  a  fancy 
for,  was  one  of  those  unfortunates  who  were  at  that  time  of  day 
(and  are,  I  fear,  still)  quite  out  of  their  places  at  a  public  school. 
If  we  knew  how  to  use  our  boys,  Martin  would  have  been  seized 
upon  and  educated  as  a  natural  philosopher.  He  had  a  passion 
for  birds,  beasts,  and  insects,  and  knew  more  of  them  and  their 
habits  than  any  one  in  Rugby;  except,  perhaps,  the  Doctor,  who 
knew  everything.  He  was  also  an  experimental  chemist  on  a 
small  scale,  and  had  made  unto  himself  an  electric  machine,  from 
which  it  was  his  greatest  pleasure  and  glory  to  administer  small 
shocks  to  any  small  boys  who  were  rash  enough  to  venture  into 
his  study.  And  this  was  by  no  means  an  adventure  free  from 
excitement;  for,  besides  the  probability  of  a  snake  dropping  onto 
your  head  or  twining  lovingly  up  your  leg,  or  a  rat  getting  into 
your  breeches-pocket  in  search  of  food,  there  was  the  animal  and 
chemical  odor  to  be  faced,  which  always  hung  about  the  den,  and 
the  chan  e  of  being  blown  up  in  some  of  the  many  experiments 
which  Martin  was  always  trying,  with  the  most  wondrous  results 
in  the  shape  of  explosions  and  smells  that  mortal  boy  ever  heard 
of.  Of  course,  poor  Martin,  in  consequence  of  his  pursuits,  had 
become  an  Ishmaelite  in  the  house.  In  the  first  place,  he  half- 
poisoned  all  his  neighbors,  and  they,  in  turn,  were  always  on  the 
lookout  to  pounce  upon  any  of  his  numerous  live-stock,  and 
drive  him  frantic  by  enticing  his  pet  old  magpie  out  of  his  window 
into  a  neighboring  study,  and  making  the  disreputable  old  bird 
drunk  on  toast  soaked  in  beer  and  sugar.  Then  Martin,  for  his 
sins,  inhabited  a  study  looking  into  a  small  court  some  ten  feet 
across,  the  window  of  which  was  completely  commanded  by  those 
of  the  studies  opposite  in  the  Sick-room  Row,  these  latter  being 
at  a  slightly  higher  elevation.  East,  and  another  boy  of  an 
equally  tormenting  and  ingenious  turn  of  mind,  now  lived  exactly 
opposite,  and  had  expended  huge  pains  and  time  in  the  prepara- 

[247] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

tion  of  instruments  of  annoyance  for  the  behoof  of  Martin  and 
his  hve  colony.  One  morning,  an  old  basket  made  its  appearance, 
suspended  by  a  short  cord  outside  Martin's  window,  in  which 
were  deposited  an  amateur  nest  containing  four  young,  hungry 
jackdaws,  the  pride  and  glory  of  Martin's  life  for  the  time  being, 
and  which  he  was  currently  asserted  to  have  hatched  upon  his 
own  person.  Early  in  the  morning,  and  late  at  night,  he  was  to 
be  seen  half  out  of  the  window,  administering  to  the  varied  wants 
of  his  callow  brood.  After  deep  cogitation.  East  and  his  chum 
had  spliced  a  knife  onto  the  end  of  a  fishing-rod;  and,  having 
watched  Martin  out,  had,  after  half  an  hour's  severe  sawing,  cut 
the  string  by  which  the  basket  was  suspended,  and  tumbled  it 
onto  the  pavement  below,  with  hideou  remonstrance  from  the 
occupants.  Poor  Martin,  returning  from  his  short  absence,  col- 
lected the  fragments  and  replaced  his  brood  (except  one  whose 
neck  had  been  broken  in  the  descent)  in  their  old  location,  sus- 
pending them  this  time  by  string  and  wire  twisted  together, 
defiant  of  any  sharp  instrument  which  his  persecutors  could 
command.  But,  like  the  Russian  engineers  at  Sebastopol,  East 
and  his  chum  had  an  answer  for  every  move  of  the  adversary; 
and  the  next  day  had  mounted  a  gun  in  the  shape  of  a  pea-shooter 
upon  the  ledge  of  their  window,  trained  so  as  to  bear  exactly 
upon  the  spot  which  Martin  had  to  occupy  while  tending  his 
nurselings.  The  moment  he  began  to  feed,  they  began  to  shoot; 
in  vain  did  the  enemy  himself  invest  in  a  pea-shooter,  and  endeavor 
to  answer  the  fire  while  he  fed  the  young  birds  with  his  other 
hand;  his  attention  was  divided,  and  his  shots  flew  wild,  while 
every  one  of  theirs  told  on  his  face  and  hands,  and  drove  him  into 
bowlings  and  imprecations.  He  had  been  driven  to  ensconce  the 
nest  in  a  corner  of  his  already  too  well-filled  den. 

His  door  was  barricaded  by  a  set  of  ingenious  bolts  of  his  own 
invention,  for  the  sieges  were  frequent  by  the  neighbors  when  any 
unusually  ambrosial  odor  spread  itself  from  the  den  to  the  neigh- 
boring studies.     The  door  panels  were  in  a  normal  state  of  smash, 

[248] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

but  the  frame  of  the  door  resisted  all  besiegers,  and  behind 
it  the  owner  carried  on  his  varied  pursuits;  much  in  the  same 
state  of  mind,  I  should  fancy,  as  a  Border-farmer  lived  in,  in  the 
days  of  the  old  moss-troopers,  when  his  hold  might  be  summoned 
or  his  cattle  carried  off  at  any  minute  of  night  or  day. 

"Open,  Martin,  old  boy — it's  only  I,  Tom  Brown." 

"Oh,  very  well;  stop  a  moment."  One  bolt  went  back. 
"You're  sure  East  isn't  there  .^" 

"No,  no,  hang  it,  open."  Tom  gave  a  kick,  the  other  bolt 
creaked,  and  he  entered  the  den. 

Den,  indeed,  it  was,  about  five  feet  six  inches  long  by  five  wide, 
and  seven  feet  high.  About  six  tattered  school-books,  and  a  few 
chemical  books,  Taxidertny,  Stanley  on  Birds,  and  an  odd  volume 
of  Bewick,  this  last  in  much  better  preservation,  occupied  the 
top  shelves.  The  other  shelves,  where  they  had  not  been  cut 
away  and  used  by  the  owner  for  other  purposes,  were  fitted  up 
for  the  abiding-places  of  birds,  beasts,  and  reptiles.  There  was 
no  attempt  at  carpet  or  curtain.  The  table  was  entirely  occupied 
by  the  great  work  of  Martin,  the  electric  machine,  which  was 
covered  carefully  with  the  remains  of  his  table-cloth.  The  jack- 
daw cage  occupied  one  wall,  and  the  other  was  adorned  by  a 
small  hatchet,  a  pair  of  climbing  irons,  and  his  tin  candle-box, 
in  which  he  was  for  the  time  being  endeavoring  to  raise  a  hopeful 
young  family  of  field-mice.  As  nothing  should  be  let  to  lie  use- 
less, it  was  well  that  the  candle-box  was  thus  occupied,  for  candles 
Martin  never  had.  A  pound  was  issued  to  him  weekly,  as  to  the 
other  boys,  but  as  candles  were  available  capital,  and  easily 
exchangeable  for  birds'-cggs  or  young  birds,  Martin's  pound 
invariably  found  its  way  in  a  few  hours  to  Howlett's,  the  bird- 
fancier's,  in  the  Bilton  road,  who  would  give  a  hawk's  or  nightin- 
gale's egg  or  young  linnet  in  exchange.  Martin's  ingenuity  was, 
therefore,  forever  on  the  rack  to  supply  himself  with  a  light;  just 
now  he  had  hit  upon  a  grand  invention,  and  the  den  was  lighted 
by  a  flaring  cotton-wick  issuing  from  a  ginger-beer  bottle  full  of 
18  [  249  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

some  doleful  composition.  When  light  altogether  failed  him, 
Martin  would  loaf  about  by  the  fires  in  the  passages  or  hall,  after 
the  manner  of  Diggs,  and  try  to  do  his  verses  or  learn  his  lines  by 
the  fire-light. 

"Well,  old  boy,  you  haven't  got  any  sweeter  in  the  den  this 
half.  How  that  stuflF  in  the  bottle  stinks!  Never  mind,  I  ain't 
going  to  stop,  but  you  come  up  after  prayers  to  our  study;  you 
know  young  Arthur;  we've  got  Gray's  study.  We'll  have  a  good 
supper  and  talk  about  birds'-nesting." 

Martin  was  evidently  highly  pleased  at  the  invitation,  and 
promised  to  be  up  without  fail. 

As  soon  as  prayers  were  over,  and  the  sixth  and  fifth  form  boys 
had  withdrawn  to  the  aristocratic  seclusion  of  their  own  room, 
and  the  rest,  or  democracy,  had  sat  down  to  their  supper  in  the 
hall,  Tom  and  Arthur,  having  secured  their  allowances  of  bread 
and  cheese,  started  on  their  feet  to  catch  the  eye  of  the  praepostor 
of  the  week,  who  remained  in  charge  during  supper,  walking  up 
and  down  the  hall.  He  happened  to  be  an  easy-going  fellow,  so 
they  got  a  pleasant  nod  to  their  "  Please,  may  I  go  out .?"  and  away 
they  scrambled  to  prepare  for  Martin  a  sumptuous  banquet. 
This  Tom  had  insisted  on,  for  he  was  in  great  delight  on  the  occa- 
sion; the  reason  of  which  delight  must  be  expounded.  The  fact 
was,  this  was  the  first  attempt  at  a  friendship  of  his  own  which 
Arthur  had  made,  and  Tom  hailed  it  as  a  grand  step.  The  ease 
with  which  he  himself  became  hail-fellow-well-met  with  anybody, 
and  blundered  into  and  out  of  twenty  friendships  a  half-year, 
made  him  sometimes  sorry  and  sometimes  angry  at  Arthur's 
reserve  and  loneliness.  True,  Arthur  was  always  pleasant,  and 
even  jolly,  with  any  boys  who  came  with  Tom  to  their  study;  but 
Tom  felt  that  it  was  only  through  him,  as  it  were,  that  his  chum 
associated  with  others,  and  that  but  for  him  Arthur  would  have 
been  dwelling  in  a  wilderness.  This  increased  his  consciousness 
of  responsibility;  and  though  he  hadn't  reasoned  it  out  and  made 
it  clear  to  himself,  yet  somehow  he  knew  that  this  responsibility, 

[250] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

this  trust  which  he  had  taken  on  him  without  thinking  about  it, 
head-over-heels,  in  fact,  was  the  centre  and  turning-point  of  his 
school-life,  that  which  was  to  make  him  or  mar  him;  his  appointed 
work  and  trial  for  the  time  being.  And  Tom  was  becoming  a 
new  boy,  though  with  frequent  tumbles  in  the  dirt  and  perpetual 
hard  battle  with  himself,  and  was  daily  growing  in  manfulness 
and  thoughtfulness,  as  every  high-couraged  and  well-principled 
boy  must,  when  he  finds  himself  for  the  first  time  consciously  at 
grips  with  self  and  the  devil.  Already  he  could  turn  almost  with- 
out a  sigh  from  the  school-gates,  from  which  had  just  scampered 
off  East  and  three  or  four  others  of  his  own  particular  set,  bound 
for  some  jolly  lark  not  quite  according  to  law,  and  involving, 
probably,  a  row  with  louts,  keepers,  or  farm-laborers,  the  skipping 
dinner  or  callng-over,  some  of  Phoebe  Jennings'  beer,  and  a  very 
possible  flogging  at  the  end  of  all  as  a  relish.  He  had  quite  got 
over  the  stage  in  which  he  would  grumble  to  himself,  "Well, 
hang  it,  it's  very  hard  of  the  Doctor  to  have  saddled  me  with 
Arthur.  Why  couldn't  he  have  chummed  him  with  Fogey,  or 
Thomkin,  or  any  of  the  fellows  who  never  do  anything  but  walk 
around  the  close,  and  finish  their  copies  the  first  day  they're  set  .f"' 
But  although  all  this  was  past,  he  often  longed,  and  felt  that  he 
was  right  in  longing,  for  more  time  for  the  legitimate  pastimes  of 
cricket,  fives,  bathing,  and  fishing  within  bounds,  in  which  Arthur 
could  not  yet  be  his  companion;  and  he  felt  that  when  the  young 
un  (as  he  now  generally  called  him)  had  found  a  pursuit  and 
some  other  friend  for  himself,  he  should  be  able  to  give  more  time 
to  the  education  of  his  own  body  with  a  clear  conscience. 

And  now  what  he  so  wished  for  had  come  to  pass,  he  almost 
hailed  it  as  a  special  providence — (as,  indeed,  it  was,  but  not  for 
the  reasons  he  gave  for  it ;  what  Providences  are  I) — that  Arthur 
should  have  singled  out  Martin  of  all  fellows  for  a  friend.  "The 
old  Madman  is  the  very  fellow,"  thought  he;  "he  will  take  him 
scrambling  over  half  the  country  after  birds'  eggs  and  flowers, 
make  him  run  and  swim  and  climb  like  an  Indian,  and  not  teach 


TOM    BROWN'S 

him  a  word  of  anything  bad,  or  keep  him  from  his  lessons.  What 
luck!"  And  so,  with  more  than  his  usual  heartiness,  he  dived 
into  his  cupboard,  and  hauled  out  an  old  knuckle-bone  of  ham, 
and  two  or  three  bottles  of  beer,  together  with  the  solemn  pewter 
only  used  on  state  occasions;  while  Arthur,  equally  elated  at  the 
easy  accomplishment  of  his  first  act  of  volition  in  the  joint  estab- 
lishment, produced  from  his  side  a  bottle  of  pickles  and  a  pot  of 
jam,  and  cleared  the  table.  In  a  minute  or  two  the  noise  of  the 
boys  coming  up  from  supper  was  heard,  and  Martin  knocked  and 
was  admitted,  bearing  his  bread  and  cheese,  and  the  three  fell  to 
with  hearty  good-will  upon  the  viands,  talking  faster  than  they 
ate,  for  all  shyness  disappeared  in  a  moment  before  Tom's  bottled 
beer  and  hospitable  ways.  "Here's  Arthur,  a  regular  young  town 
mouse,  with  a  natural  taste  for  the  woods,  Martin,  longing  to 
break  his  neck  climbing  trees,  and  with  a  passion  for  young 
snakes." 

"Well,  I  say,"  sputtered  out  Martin,  eagerly,  "will  you  come 
to-morrow,  both  of  you,  to  Caldecott's  Spinney,  then,  for  I  know 
of  a  kestrel's  nest,  up  a  fir-tree — I  can't  get  at  it  without  help; 
and.  Brown,  you  can  climb  against  any  one." 

"Oh  yes,  do  let  us  go,"  said  Arthur;  "I  never  saw  a  hawk's 
nest,  nor  a  hawk's  egg." 

"You  just  come  down  to  my  study,  then,  and  I'll  show  you 
five  sorts,"  said  Martin. 

"Ay,  the  old  Madman  has  got  the  best  collection  in  the  house, 
out-and-out,"  said  Tom;  and  then  Martin,  warming  with  un- 
accustomed good  cheer  and  the  chance  of  a  convert,  launched 
into  a  proposed  birds'-nesting  campaign,  betraying  all  manner  of 
important  secrets;  a  golden-crested  wren's  nest  near  Butlin's 
Mound,  a  moor-hen  that  was  sitting  on  nine  eggs  in  a  pond  down 
the  Barby  road,  and  a  kingfisher's  nest  in  a  corner  of  the  old 
canal  above  Brownsover  Mill.  He  had  heard,  he  said,  that  no 
one  had  ever  got  a  kingfisher's  nest  out  perfect,  and  that  the 
British  Museum,  or  the  government,  or  somebody,  had  ofi'ered 

[252] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

£ioo  to  any  one  who  could  bring  them  a  nest  and  eggs  not  dam- 
aged. In  the  middle  of  which  astounding  announcement,  to 
which  the  others  were  listening  with  open  ears,  already  considering 
the  application  of  the  ;6^ioo,  a  knock  came  at  the  door,  and  Kast's 
voice  was  heard  craving  admittance. 

"There's  Harry,"  said  Tom;  "we'll  let  him  in — I'll  keep  him 
steady,  Martin.  I  thought  the  old  boy  would  smell  out  the 
supper." 

The  fact  was  that  Tom's  heart  had  already  smitten  him  for 
not  asking  his  fidus  Achates  to  the  feast,  although  only  an  extem- 
pore affair;  and  though  prudence  and  the  desire  to  get  Martin 
and  Arthur  together  alone  at  first  had  overcome  his  scruples,  he 
was  now  heartily  glad  to  open  the  door,  broach  another  bottle  of 
beer,  and  hand  over  the  old  ham-knuckle  to  the  searching  of  his 
old  friend's  pocket-knife. 

"Ah,  you  greedy  vagabonds,"  said  East,  with  his  mouth  full; 
"I  knew  there  was  something  going  on  when  I  saw  you  cut  off 
out  of  hall  so  quick  with  your  suppers.  What  a  stunning  tap, 
Tom!     You  are  a  wunner  for  bottling  the  swipes." 

"I've  had  practice  enough  for  the  sixth  in  my  time,  and  it's 
hard  if  I  haven't  picked  up  a  wrinkle  or  two  for  my  own  benefit." 

"Well,  old  Madman,  how  goes  the  birds'-nesting  campaign  ^ 
How's  Howlett  ?  I  expect  the  young  rooks  '11  be  out  in  another 
fortnight,  and  then  my  turn  comes." 

"There'll  be  no  young  rooks  fit  for  pies  for  a  month  yet;  shows 
how  much  you  know  about  it,"  rejoined  Martin,  who,  though 
very  good  friends  with  East,  regarded  him  with  considerable  sus- 
picion for  his  propensity  to  practical  jokes. 

"Scud  knows  nothing  and  cares  for  nothing  but  grub  and  mis- 
chief," said  Tom;  "but  young  rook  pie,  specially  when  you've 
had  to  climb  for  them,  is  very  pretty  eating.  However,  I  say, 
Scud,  we're  all  going  after  a  hawk's  nest  to-morrow,  in  Caldecott's 
Spinney;  and  if  you'll  come  and  behave  yourself,  we'll  have  a 
stunning  climb." 

[  253  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"And  a  bathe  in  Aganippe.     Hooray!  I'm  your  man!" 

"No,  no;  no  bathing  in  Aganippe;  that's  where  our  betters  go." 

"Well,  well,  never  mind.  I'm  for  the  hawk's  nest  and  any- 
thing that  turns  up." 

"And  the  bottled  beer  being  finished,  and  his  hunger  appeased, 
East  departed  to  his  study,  "that  sneak,  Jones,"  as  he  informed 
them,  who  had  just  got  into  the  sixth  and  occupied  the  next  study, 
having  instituted  a  nightly  visitation  upon  East  and  his  chum,  to 
their  no  small  discomfort. 

When  he  was  gone,  Martin  rose  to  follow,  but  Tom  stopped 
him.  "No  one  goes  near  New  Row,"  said  he,  "so  you  may  just 
as  well  stop  here  and  do  your  verses,  and  then  we'll  have  some 
more  talk.  We'll  be  no  end  quiet;  besides,  no  praepostor  comes 
here  now — we  haven't  been  visited  once  this  half." 

So  the  table  was  cleared,  the  cloth  restored,  and  the  three  fell 
to  work  with  Gradus  and  dictionary  upon  the  morning's  vulgus. 

They  were  three  very  fair  examples  of  the  way  in  which  such 
tasks  were  done  at  Rugby,  in  the  consulship  of  Plancus.  And 
doubtless  the  method  is  little  changed,  for  there  is  nothing  new 
under  the  sun,  especially  at  schools. 

Now,  be  it  known  unto  all  you  boys  who  are  at  schools  which 
do  not  rejoice  in  the  time-honored  institution  of  the  Vulgus 
(commonly  supposed  to  have  been  established  by  William  of 
Wykeham  at  Winchester,  and  imported  to  Rugby  by  Arnold, 
more  for  the  sake  of  the  lines  which  were  learned  by  heart  with 
it,  than  for  its  own  intrinsic  value,  as  I've  always  understood) 
that  it  is  a  short  exercise,  in  Greek  or  Latin  verse,  on  a  given 
subject,  the  minimum  number  of  lines  being  fixed  for  each  form. 
The  master  of  the  form  gave  out  at  fourth  lesson  on  the  previous 
day  the  subject  for  next  morning's  vulgus,  and  at  first  lesson  each 
boy  had  to  bring  his  vulgus  ready  to  be  looked  over;  and  with  the 
vulgus,  a  certain  number  of  lines  from  one  of  the  Latin  or  Greek 
poets  then  being  construed  in  the  form  had  to  be  got  by  heart. 
The  master  at  first  lesson  called  up  each  boy  in  the  form  in  order, 

[  254  ] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

and  put  him  on  in  the  lines.  If  he  couldn't  say  them,  or  seem  to 
say  them,  by  reading  them  off  the  master's  or  some  other  boy's 
book  who  stood  near,  he  was  sent  back,  and  went  below  all  the 
boys  who  did  so  say  or  seem  to  say  them;  but  in  either  case  his 
vulgus  was  looked  over  by  the  master,  who  gave  and  entered  in 
his  book,  to  the  credit  or  discredit  of  the  boy,  so  many  marks  as 
the  composition  merited.  At  Rugby  vulgus  and  lines  were  the 
first  lesson  every  other  day  in  the  week,  or  Tuesdays,  Thursdays, 
and  Saturdays;  and  as  there  were  thirty-eight  weeks  in  the  school 
year,  it  is  obvious  to  the  meanest  capacity  that  the  master  of  each 
form  had  to  set  one  hundred  and  fourteen  subjects  every  year, 
two  hundred  and  twenty-eight  every  two  years,  and  so  on.  Now, 
to  persons  of  moderate  invention  this  was  a  considerable  task, 
and  human  nature  being  prone  to  repeat  itself,  it  will  not  be  won- 
dered that  the  masters  gave  the  same  subjects  sometimes  over 
again  after  a  certain  lapse  of  time.  To  meet  and  rebuke  this  bad 
habit  of  the  masters,  the  school-boy  mind,  with  its  accustomed 
ingenuity,  had  invented  an  elaborate  system  of  tradition.  Almost 
every  boy  kept  his  own  vulgus  written  out  in  a  book,  and  these 
books  were  duly  handed  down  from  boy  to  boy,  till  (if  the  tradition 
has  gone  on  till  now)  I  suppose  the  popular  boys,  in  whose  hands 
bequeathed  vulgus-books  have  accumulated,  are  prepared  with 
three  or  four  vulguses  on  any  subject  in  heaven  or  earth,  or  in 
"more  worlds  than  one,"  which  an  unfortunate  master  can  pitch 
upon.  At  any  rate,  such  lucky  fellows  had  generally  one  for 
themselves  and  one  for  a  friend  in  my  time.  The  only  objection 
to  the  traditionary  method  of  doing  your  vulguses  was  the  risk 
that  the  successions  might  have  become  confused,  and  so  that 
you  and  another  follower  of  traditions  should  show  up  the  same 
identical  vulgus  some  fine  morning;  in  which  case,  when  it  hap- 
pened, considerable  grief  was  the  result — but  when  did  such  risk 
hinder  boys  or  men  from  short  cuts  and  pleasant  paths .? 

Now,  in  the  study  that  night,  Tom  was  the  upholder  of  the 
traditionary   method   of  vulgus   doing.     He   carefully   produced 

[255] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

two  large  vulgus-books,  and  began  diving  into  them,  and  picking 
out  a  line  here,  and  an  ending  there  (tags,  as  they  were  vulgarly 
called),  till  he  had  gotten  all  that  he  thought  he  could  make  fit. 
He  then  proceeded  to  patch  his  tags  together  with  the  help  of  his 
GraduSy  producing  an  incongruous  and  feeble  result  of  eight 
elegiac  lines,  the  minimum  quantity  for  his  form,  and  finishing 
up  with  two  highly  moral  lines  extra,  making  ten  in  all,  which  he 
cribbed  entire  from  one  of  his  books,  beginning  "O  genus  human- 
um,"  and  which  he  himself  must  have  used  a  dozen  times,  when- 
ever an  unfortunate  or  wicked  hero,  of  whatever  nation  or  language 
under  the  sun,  was  the  subject.  Indeed,  he  began  to  have  great 
doubts  whether  the  master  wouldn't  remember  them,  and  so  only 
threw  them  in  as  extra  lines,  because  in  any  case  they  would  call 
off  attention  from  the  other  tags,  and,  if  detected,  being  extra 
lines,  he  wouldn't  be  sent  back  to  do  two  more  in  their  place, 
while  if  they  passed  muster  again  he  would  get  marks  for  them. 

The  second  method,  pursued  by  Martin,  may  be  called  the 
dogged,  or  prosaic  method.  He,  no  more  than  Tom,  took  any 
pleasure  in  the  task,  but,  having  no  old  vulgus-books  of  his  own, 
or  any  one's  else,  could  not  follow  the  traditionary  method,  for 
which,  too,  as  Tom  remarked,  he  hadn't  the  genius.  Martin, 
then,  proceeded  to  write  down  eight  lines  in  English,  of  the  most 
matter-of-fact  kind,  the  first  that  came  into  his  head,  and  to  con- 
vert these,  line  by  line,  by  main  force  of  Gradus  and  dictionary, 
into  Latin  that  would  scan.  This  was  all  he  cared  for,  to  produce 
eight  lines  with  no  false  quantities  or  concords:  whether  the  words 
were  apt,  or  what  the  sense  was,  mattered  nothing;  and,  as  the 
article  was  all  new,  not  a  line  beyond  the  minimum  did  the  fol- 
lowers of  the  dogged  method  ever  produce. 

The  third,  or  artistic  method,  was  Arthur's,  He  considered 
first  what  point  in  the  characte  or  event  which  was  the  subject 
could  most  neatly  be  brought  out  within  the  limits  of  a  vulgus, 
trying  always  to  get  his  idea  into  the  eight  lines,  but  not  binding 
himself  to  ten  or  even  twelve  lines  if  he  couldn't  do  this.     He  then 

[256] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

set  to  work  as  much  as  possible  without  Gradus  or  other  help, 
to  clothe  his  idea  in  appropriate  Latin  or  Greek,  and  would  not 
be  satisfied  till  he  had  polished  it  well  up  with  the  aptest  and  most 
poetic  words  and  phrases  he  could  get  at. 

A  fourth  method,  indeed,  was  used  in  the  school,  but  of  too 
simple  a  kind  to  require  a  comment.  It  may  be  called  the  vicari- 
ous method,  obtained  among  big  boys  of  lazy  or  bullying  habits, 
and  consisted  simply  in  making  clever  boys  whom  they  could 
thrash  do  their  whole  vulgus  for  them,  and  construe  it  to  them 
afterward;  which  latter  is  a  method  not  to  be  encouraged,  and 
which  I  strongly  advise  you  all  not  to  practise.  Of  the  others, 
you  will  find  the  traditionary  most  troublesome,  unless  you  can 
steal  your  vulguses  whole  (fxperto  crcde)^  and  that  the  artistic 
method  pays  the  best  both  in  marks  and  other  ways. 

The  vulgus  being  finished  by  nine  o'clock,  and  Martin,  having 
rejoiced  above  measure  in  the  abundance  of  light,  and  of  Gradus 
and  dictionary,  and  other  conveniences  almost  unknown  to  him 
for  getting  through  the  work,  and  having  been  pressed  by  Arthur 
to  come  and  do  his  verses  there  whenever  he  liked,  the  three  boys 
went  down  to  Martin's  den,  and  Arthur  was  initiated  into  the 
lore  of  birds'  eggs,  to  his  great  delight.  The  exquisite  coloring 
and  forms  astonished  and  charmed  him  who  had  scarcely  ever 
seen  any  but  a  hen's  egg  or  an  ostrich's,  and  by  the  time  he  was 
lugged  away  to  bed  he  had  learned  the  names  of  at  least  twenty 
sorts,  and  dreamt  of  the  glorious  perils  of  tree-climbing,  and  that 
he  had  found  a  roc's  egg  in  the  island  as  big  as  Sindbad's  and 
clouded  like  a  titlark's,  in  blowing  which  Martin  and  he  had 
nearly  been  drowned  in  the  yolk. 


TOM    BROWN'S 


THE    BIRD-FANCIERS 

"I  have  found  out  a  gift  for  my  fair, 

I  have  found  v^here  the  wood-pigeons  breed: 
But  let  me  the  plunder  forbear, 

She  vs^ould  say  'twas  a  barbarous  deed." — RowE. 

"And  now,  my  lad,  take  them  five  shilling. 
And  on  my  advice  in  future  think; 
So  Billy  pouched  them  all  so  willing, 
And  got  that  night  disguised  in  drink." 

— MS.  Ballad. 

HE  next  morning  at  first  lesson  Tom  was 
turned  back  in  his  lines,  and  so  had  to  wait 
till  the  second  round,  while  Martin  and  Arthur 
said  theirs  all  right  and  got  out  of  school  at 
once.  When  Tom  got  out  and  ran  down  to 
breakfast  at  Harrowell's  they  were  missing, 
and  Stumps  informed  him  that  they  had  swal- 
lowed down  their  breakfasts  and  gone  off  together,  where,  he 

[258] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

couldn't  say.  Tom  hurried  over  his  own  breakfast,  and  went 
first  to  Martin's  study  and  then  to  his  own,  but  no  signs  of  the 
missing  boys  were  to  be  found.  He  felt  half  angry  and  jealous 
of  Martin — where  could  they  be  gone  ? 

He  learned  second  lesson  with  East  and  the  rest  in  no  very  good 
temper,  and  then  went  out  into  the  quadrangle.  About  ten 
minutes  before  school  Martin  and  Arthur  arrived  in  the  quad- 
rangle, breathless;  and,  catching  sight  of  him,  Arthur  rushed  up, 
all  excitement,  and  with  a  bright  glow  on  his  face. 

"Oh,  Tom,  look  here!"  cried  he,  holding  out  three  moor-hen's 
eggs;  "we've  been  down  the  Barby  road  to  the  pool  Martin  told 
us  of  last  night,  and  just  see  what  we've  got." 

Tom  wouldn't  be  pleased,  and  only  looked  out  for  something 
to  find  fault  with. 

"Why,  young  un,"  said  he,  "what  have  you  been  after?  You 
don't  mean  to  say  you've  been  wading ,?" 

The  tone  of  reproach  made  poor  little  Arthur  shrink  up  in  a 
moment  and  look  piteous,  and  Tom,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
turned  his  anger  on  Martin. 

"Well,  I  didn't  think.  Madman,  that  you'd  have  been  such  a 
mufF  as  to  let  him  be  getting  wet  through  at  this  time  of  day. 
You  might  have  done  the  wading  yourself." 

"So  I  did,  of  course,  only  he  would  come  in  too,  to  see  the  nest. 
We  left  six  eggs  in;   they  'II  be  hatched  in  a  day  or  two." 

"Hang  the  eggs!"  said  Tom;  "a  fellow  can't  turn  his  back  for 
a  moment  but  all  his  work's  undone.  He'll  be  laid  up  for  a  week 
for  this  precious  lark,  I'll  be  bound." 

"Indeed,  Tom,  now,"  pleaded  Arthur,  "my  feet  ain't  wet,  for 
Martin  made  me  take  off  my  shoes  and  stockings  and  trousers." 

"But  they  are  wet  and  dirty,  too — can't  I  see  .?"  answered  Tom; 
"and  you'll  be  called  up  and  floored  when  the  master  sees  what  a 
state  you're  in.  You  haven't  looked  at  second  lesson,  you  know." 
Oh,  Tom,  you  old  humbug!  you  to  be  upbraiding  any  one 
with  not  learning  his  lessons!     If  you  hadn't  been  floored  your- 

[259] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

self  now  at  first  lesson,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  wouldn't  have 
been  with  them  ?  and  you've  taken  away  all  poor  little  Arthur's 
joy  and  pride  in  his  first  birds'  eggs;  and  he  goes  and  puts  them 
down  in  the  study,  and  takes  down  his  books  with  a  sigh,  thinking 
he  has  done  something  horribly  wrong,  whereas  he  has  learned 
on  in  advance  much  more  than  will  be  done  at  second  lesson. 

But  the  old  Malman  hasn't,  and  gets  called  up  and  makes 
some  frightful  shots,  losing  about  ten  places,  and  all  but  getting 
floored.  This  somewhat  appeases  Tom's  wrath,  and  by  the  end 
of  the  lesson  he  has  regained  his  temper.  And  afterward  in  their 
study  he  begins  to  get  right  again,  as  he  watches  Arthur's  intense 
joy  at  seeing  Martin  blowing  the  eggs  and  glueing  them  carefully 
onto  bits  of  cardboard,  and  notes  the  anxious,  loving  looks  which 
the  little  fellow  casts  sidelong  at  him.  And  then  he  thinks:  "What 
an  ill-tempered  beast  I  am!  Here's  just  what  I  was  wishing  for 
last  night  come  about,  and  I'm  spoil  ng  it  all,"  and  in  another 
five  minutes  has  swallowed  the  last  mouthful  of  his  bile,  and  is 
repaid  by  seeing  his  little  sensitive  plant  expand  again,  and  sun 
itself  in  his  smiles. 

After  dinner,  the  Madman  is  busy  with  the  preparations  for 
their  expedition,  fitting  new  straps  onto  his  climbing-irons,  filling 
large  pill-boxes  with  cotton  wool,  and  sharpening  East's  small 
axe.  They  carry  all  their  munitions  into  calling-over,  and  directly 
afterward,  having  dodged  such  praepostors  as  are  on  the  lookout 
for  fags  at  cricket,  the  four  set  off  at  a  smart  trot  down  the  Lawford 
foot-path  straight  for  Caldecott's  Spinney  and  the  hawk's  nest. 

Martin  leads  the  way  in  high  feather;  it  is  quite  a  new  sensation 
to  him  getting  companions,  and  he  .finds  it  very  pleasant,  and 
means  to  show  them  all  manner  of  proofs  of  his  science  and  skill. 
Brown  and  East  may  be  better  at  cricket  and  football  and  games, 
thinks  he,  but  out  in  the  fields  and  woods  see  if  I  can't  teach  them 
something.  He  has  taken  the  leadership  already,  and  strides 
away  in  front  with  his  climbing-irons  strapped  under  one  arm, 
his  pecking-bag  under  the  other,  and  his  pockets  and  hat  full  of 

[260] 


SCHOOL  DAYS 

pill-boxes,  cotton  wool,  and  other  etceteras.  Each  of  the  others 
carries  a  pccking-bag,  and  East  his  hatchet. 

When  they  had  crossed  three  or  four  fields  without  a  check, 
Arthur  began  to  lag,  and  Tom,  seeing  this,  shouted  to  Martin  to 
pull  up  a  bit:  "We  ain't  out  Hare-and-hounds — what's  the  good 
of  grinding  on  at  this  rate  ?" 

"There's  the  Spinney,"  said  Martin,  pulling  up  on  the  brow  of 
a  slope  at  the  bottom  of  which  lay  Lawford  brook,  and  pointing 
to  the  top  of  the  opposite  slope;  "the  nest  is  in  one  of  those 
high  fir-trees  at  this  end.  And  down  by  the  brook,  there,  I 
know  of  a  sedge-bird's  nest;  we'll  go  and  look  at  it  coming 
back." 

"Oh,  come  on,  don't  let  us  stop,"  said  Arthur,  who  was  getting 
excited  at  the  sight  of  the  wood;  so  they  broke  into  a  trot  again, 
and  were  soon  across  the  brook,  up  the  slope,  and  into  the  Spinney. 
Here  they  advanced  as  noiselessly  as  possible,  lest  keepers  or 
other  enemies  should  be  about,  and  stopped  at  the  foot  of  a  tall 
fir,  at  the  top  of  which  Martin  pointed  out  with  pride  the  kestrel's 
nest,  the  object  of  their  quest. 

"Oh,  where!  which  is  it.?"  asks  Arthur,  gaping  up  in  the 
air,  and  having  the  most  vague  idea  of  what  it  would  be 
like. 

"There,  don't  you  see.?'*  said  East,  pointing  to  a  lump  of  mis- 
tletoe in  the  next  tree,  which  was  a  beech.  He  saw  that  Martin 
and  Tom  were  busy  with  the  climbing-irons,  and  couldn't  resist 
the  temptation  of  hoaxing.  Arthur  stared  and  wondered  more 
than  ever. 

"Well,  how  curious!  it  doesn't  look  a  bit  like  what  I  expected," 
said  he. 

"Very  odd  birds,  kestrels,"  said  East,  looking  waggishly  at  his 
victim,  who  was  still  star-gazing. 

"  But  I  thought  it  was  in  a  fir-tree .?"  objected  Arthur. 

"Ah,  don't  you  know? — that's  a  new  sort  of  fir,  which  old 
Caldecott  brought  from  the  Himalayas." 

[261] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Really!"  said  Arthur;  "I'm  glad  I  know  that.  How  unlike 
our  firs  they  are!  They  do  very  well,  too,  here,  don't  they? — 
the  Spinney's  full  of  them." 

"What's  that  humbug  he's  telling  you.?"  cried  Tom,  looking 
up,  having  caught  the  word  Himalayas  and  suspecting  what  East 
was  after. 

"Only  about  this  fir,"  said  Arthur,  putting  his  hand  on  the 
stem  of  the  beech. 

"Fir!"  shouted  Tom;  "why,  you  don't  mean  to  say,  young 
un,  you  don't  know  a  beech  when  you  see  one  .?" 

Poor  little  Arthur  looked  terribly  ashamed,  and  East  exploded 
in  laughter  which  made  the  wood  ring. 

"I've  hardly  ever  seen  any  trees,"  faltered  Arthur. 

"What  a  shame  to  hoax  him,  Scud!"  cried  Martin.  "Never 
mind,  Arthur,  you  shall  know  more  about  trees  than  he  does  in  a 
week  or  two." 

"And  isn't  that  the  kestrel's  nest,  then  .?"  asked  Arthur. 

"That!  why,  that's  a  piece  of  mistletoe.  There's  the  nest, 
that  lump  of  sticks  up  this  fir." 

"Don't  believe  him,  Arthur,"  struck  in  the  incorrigible  East; 
"I  just  saw  an  old  magpie  go  out  of  it." 

Martin  did  not  deign  to  reply  to  this  sally,  except  by  a  grunt, 
as  he  buckled  the  last  buckle  of  his  climbing-irons;  and  Arthur 
looked  reproachfully  at  East  without  speaking. 

But  now  came  the  tug  of  war.  It  was  a  very  difficult  tree  to 
climb  until  the  branches  were  reached,  the  first  of  which  was  some 
fourteen  feet  up,  for  the  trunk  was  too  large  at  the  bottom  to  be 
swarmed;  in  fact,  neither  of  the  boys  could  reach  more  than  half 
round  it  with  his  arms.  Martin  and  Tom,  both  of  whom  had 
irons  on,  tried  it  without  success  at  first;  the  fir  bark  broke  away 
where  they  stuck  the  irons  in  as  soon  as  they  leaned  any  weight 
on  their  feet,  and  the  grip  of  their  arms  wasn't  enough  to  keep 
them  up;  so,  after  getting  up  three  or  four  feet,  down  they  came 
slithering  to  the  ground,  barking  their  arms  and  faces.     They 

[262] 


"WE  MUST  TRY  A   PYRAMID,"  SAID  TOM 


SCHOOL  DAYS 

were  furious,  and    Kast  sat  by  laughing,  and   shouting  at  each 
failure,  "Two  to  one  on  the  old  magpie!" 

"We  must  try  a  pyramid,"  said  Tom  at  last.  "Now,  Scud, 
you  lazy  rascal,  stick  yourself  against  the  tree!" 

"I  dare  say!  and  have  you  standing  on  my  shoulders  with  the 
irons  on.  What  do  you  think  my  skin's  made  of.''"  However, 
up  he  got,  and  leaned  against  the  tree,  putting  his  head  down 
and  clasping  it  with  his  arms  as  far  as  he  could.  "Now,  then. 
Madman,"  said  Tom,  "you  next." 

"No,  I'm  hghter  than  you;  you  go  next."  So  Tom  got  on 
East's  shoulders  and  grasped  the  tree  above,  and  then  Martin 
scrambled  up  on  Tom's  shoulders,  amid  the  totterings  and  groan- 
ings  of  the  pyramid,  and,  with  a  spring  which  sent  his  supporters 
howling  to  the  ground,  clasped  the  stem  some  ten  feet  up,  and 
remained  clinging.  For  a  moment  or  two  they  thought  he  couldn't 
get  up,  but  then,  holding  on  with  arms  and  teeth,  he  worked  first 
one  iron,  then  the  other,  firmly  into  the  bark,  got  another  grip 
with  his  arms,  and  in  another  minute  had  hold  of  the  lowest 
branch. 

"All  up  with  the  old  magpie  now,"  said  East;  and,  after  a 
minute's  rest,  up  went  Martin,  hand  over  hand,  watched  by 
Arthur  with  fearful  eagerness. 

"  Isn't  it  very  dangerous  .?"  said  he. 

"Not  a  bit,"  answered  Tom;  "you  can't  hurt  if  you  only  get 
good  hand-hold.  Try  every  branch  with  a  good  pull  before  you 
trust  it,  and  then  up  you  go." 

Martin  was  now  among  the  small  branches  close  to  the  nest, 
and  away  dashed  the  old  bird  and  soared  up  above  the  trees, 
watching  the  intruder. 

"All  right — four  eggs!"  shouted  he. 

"Take  'em  all!"  shouted  East;  "that  'II  be  one  apiece." 

"No,  no!  leave  one,  and  then  she  won't  care,"  said  Tom. 

We  boys  had  an  idea  that  birds  couldn't  count,  and  were  quite 
content  as  long  as  you  left  one  egg.     I  hope  it  is  so. 
19  [  265  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Martin  carefully  put  one  egg  into  each  of  his  boxes  and  the 
third  into  his  mouth,  the  only  other  place  of  safety,  and  came  down 
like  a  lamplighter.  All  went  well  till  he  was  within  ten  feet  of  the 
ground,  when,  as  the  trunk  enlarged,  his  hold  got  less  and  less 
firm,  and  at  last  down  he  came  with  a  run,  tumbling  onto  his 
back  on  the  turf,  spluttering  and  spitting  out  the  remains  of  the 
great  egg,  which  had  been  broken  by  the  jar  of  his  fall. 

"Ugh!  ugh! — something  to  drink! — ugh!  it  was  addled!"  splut- 
tered he,  while  the  wood  rang  again  with  the  merry  laughter  of 
East  and  Tom. 

Then  they  examined  the  prizes,  gathered  up  their  things,  and 
went  off  to  the  brook,  where  Martin  swallowed  huge  draughts  of 
water  to  get  rid  of  the  taste;  and  they  visited  the  sedge-bird's  nest, 
and  from  thence  struck  across  the  country  in  high  glee,  beating 
the  hedges  and  brakes  as  they  went  along;  and  Arthur  at  last,  to 
his  intense  delight,  was  allowed  to  climb  a  small  hedgerow  oak 
for  a  magpie's  nest  with  Tom,  who  kept  all  round  him  like  a 
mother,  and  showed  him  where  to  hold  and  how  to  throw  his 
weight;  and,  though  he  was  in  a  great  fright,  didn't  show  it;  and 
was  applauded  by  all  for  his  lissomeness. 

They  crossed  a  road  soon  afterward,  and  there,  close  to  them, 
lay  a  heap  of  charming  pebbles. 

"Look  here!"  shouted  East — "here's  luck!  I've  been  longing 
for  some  good,  honest  pecking  this  half-hour.  Let's  fill  the  bags, 
and  have  no  more  of  this  foozling  birds'-nesting." 

No  one  objected,  so  each  boy  filled  the  fustian  bag  he  carried 
full  of  stones;  they  crossed  into  the  next  field,  Tom  and  East 
taking  one  side  of  the  hedge,  and  the  other  two  the  other  side. 
Noise  enough  they  made  certainly,  but  it  was  too  early  in  the 
season  for  the  young  birds,  and  the  old  birds  were  too  strong  on 
the  wing  for  our  young  marksmen,  and  flew  out  of  shot  after  the 
first  discharge.  But  it  was  great  fun,  rushing  along  the  hedge- 
rows and  discharging  stone  after  stone  at  blackbirds  and  chaf- 
finches, though  no  result  in  the  shape  of  slaughtered  birds  was 

[  266  1 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

obtained;  and  Arthur  soon  entered  into  it,  and  rushed  to  head 
back  the  birds,  and  shouted,  and  threw,  and  tumbled  into  ditclies 
and  over  and  through  hedges,  as  wild  as  the  Madman  himself. 

Presently  the  party,  in  full  cry  after  an  old  blackbird  (who  was 
evidently  used  to  the  thing  and  enjoyed  the  fun,  for  he  would  wait 
till  they  came  close  to  him  and  then  fly  on  for  forty  yards  or  so, 
and,  with  an  impudent  flicker  of  his  tail,  dart  into  the  depths  of 
the  quickset),  came  beating  down  a  high  double  hedge,  two  on 
each  side. 

"There  he  is  again!"  "Head  him!"  "Let  drive!"  "I  had 
him  there!"  "Take  care  where  you're  throwing.  Madman!" 
The  shouts  might  have  been  heard  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off.  They 
were  heard  some  two  hundred  yards  off  by  a  farmer  and  two  of 
his  shepherds,  who  were  doctoring  sheep  in  a  fold  in  the  next  field. 

Now,  the  farmer  in  question  rented  a  house  and  yard  situate 
at  the  end  of  the  field  in  which  the  young  bird-fanciers  had  arrived, 
which  house  and  yard  he  didn't  occupy  or  keep  any  one  else  in. 
Nevertheless,  like  a  brainless  and  unreasoning  Briton,  he  persisted 
in  maintaining  on  the  premises  a  large  stock  of  cocks,  hens,  and 
other  poultry.  Of  course,  all  sorts  of  depredators  visited  the 
place  from  time  to  time;  foxes  and  gypsies  wrought  havoc  in  the 
night;  while  in  the  daytime  I  regret  to  have  to  confess  that  visits 
from  the  Rugby  boys,  and  consequent  disappearances  of  ancient 
and  respectable  fowls,  were  not  unfrequent.  Tom  and  East  had 
during  the  period  of  their  outlawry  visited  the  barn  in  question 
for  felonious  purposes,  and  on  one  occasion  had  conquered  and 
slain  a  duck  there,  and  borne  away  the  carcass  triumphantly, 
hidden  in  their  handkerchiefs.  However,  they  were  sickened  of 
the  practice  by  the  trouble  and  anxiety  which  the  wretched  duck's 
body  caused  them.  They  carried  it  to  Sally  Harrowell's  in  hopes 
of  a  good  supper;  but  she,  after  examining  it,  made  a  long  face 
and  refused  to  dress  or  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  Then  they 
took  it  into  their  study  and  began  plucking  it  themselves;  but 
what  to  do  with  the  feathers — where  to  hide  them  ? 

[  267  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Good  gracious,  Tom,  what  a  lot  of  feathers  a  duck  has!" 
groaned  East,  holding  a  bagful  in  his  hand  and  looking  dis- 
consolately at  the  carcass,  not  yet  half  plucked. 

"And  I  do  think  he's  getting  high,  too,  already,"  said  Tom, 
smelling  at  him  cautiously,  "so  we  must  finish  him  up  soon." 

"Yes,  all  very  well;  but  how  are  we  to  cook  him.?  I'm  sure 
I  ain't  going  to  try  it  on  in  the  hall  or  passages;  we  can't  afford 
to  be  roasting  ducks  about — our  character's  too  bad." 

"  I  wish  we  were  rid  of  the  brute,"  said  Tom,  throwing  him  on 
the  table  in  disgust.  And  after  a  day  or  two  more  it  became  clear 
that  got  rid  of  he  must  be;  so  they  packed  him  and  sealed  him  up 
in  brown  paper,  and  put  him  in  the  cupboard  of  an  unoccupied 
study,  where  he  was  found  in  the  holidays  by  the  matron,  a  grew- 
some  body. 

They  had  never  been  duck-hunting  there  since,  but  others  had, 
and  the  bold  yeoman  was  very  sore  on  the  subject,  and  bent  on 
making  an  example  of  the  first  boys  he  could  catch.  So  he  and 
his  shepherds  crouched  behind  the  hurdles  and  watched  the 
party,  who  were  approaching  all  unconscious. 

Why  should  that  old  guinea-fowl  be  lying  out  in  the  hedge  just 
at  this  particular  moment  of  all  the  year  .?  Who  can  say  .?  Guinea- 
fowls  always  are — so  are  all  other  things,  animals,  and  persons, 
requisite  for  getting  one  into  scrapes,  always  ready  when  any 
mischief  can  come  of  them.  At  any  rate,  just  under  East's  nose 
popped  out  the  old  guinea-hen,  scuttling  along  and  shrieking, 
"Come  back!  come  back!"  at  the  top  of  her  voice.  Either  of 
the  other  three  might  perhaps  have  withstood  the  temptation,  but 
East  first  lets  drive  the  stone  he  has  in  his  hand  at  her,  and  then 
rushes  to  turn  her  into  the  hedge  again.  He  succeeds,  and  then 
they  are  all  at  it  for  dear  life,  up  and  down  the  hedge  in  full  cry, 
the  "Come  back!  come  back!"  getting  shriller  and  fainter  every 
minute. 

Meantime,  the  farmer  and  his  men  steal  over  the  hurdles  and 
creep  down  the  hedge  toward  the  scene  of  action.     They  are 

[268] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

almost  within  a  stone's -throw  of  IVlartin,  who  is  pressing  the 
unlucky  chase  hard,  when  Tom  catches  sight  of  them,  and  sings 
out,  "Louts,  'ware  louts,  your  side!  Madman,  look  ahead!" 
and  then,  catching  hold  of  Arthur,  hurries  him  away  across  the 
field  toward  Rugby  as  hard  as  they  can  tear.  Had  he  been  by 
himself,  he  would  have  stayed  to  see  it  out  with  the  others,  but 
now  his  heart  sinks  and  all  his  pluck  goes.  The  idea  of  being 
led  up  to  the  Doctor  with  Arthur  for  bagging  fowls  quite  unmans 
and  takes  half  the  run  out  of  him. 

However,  no  boys  are  more  able  to  take  care  of  themselves 
than  East  and  Martin;  they  dodge  the  pursuers,  slip  through  a 
gap,  and  come  pelting  after  Tom  and  Arthur,  whom  they  catch 
up  in  no  time;  the  farmer  and  his  men  are  making  good  running 
about  a  field  behind.  Tom  wishes  to  himself  that  they  had  made 
off  in  any  other  direction;  but  now  they  are  all  in  for  it  together, 
and  must  see  it  out.  "You  won't  leave  the  young  un,  will  you  r' 
says  he,  as  they  haul  poor  litt!c  Arthur,  already  losing  wind  from 
the  fright,  through  the  next  hedge.  "Not  we,"  is  the  answer 
from  both.  The  next  hedge  is  a  stilFone;  the  pursuers  gain  hor- 
ribly on  them,  and  they  only  just  pull  Arthur  through,  with  two 
great  rents  in  his  trousers,  as  the  foremost  shepherd  comes  up  on 
the  other  side.  As  they  start  into  the  next  field,  they  are  aware 
of  two  figures  walking  down  the  foot-path  in  the  middle  of  it,  and 
recognize  Holmes  and  Diggs  taking  a  constitutional.  Those 
good-natured  fellows  immediately  shout  "On!"  "Let's  go  to 
them  and  surrender,"  pants  Tom.  Agreed.  And  in  another 
minute  the  four  boys,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  those  worthies, 
rush  breathless  up  to  Holmes  and  Diggs,  who  pull  up  to  see  what 
is  the  matter;  and  then  the  whole  is  explained  by  the  appearance 
of  the  farmer  and  his  men,  who  unite  their  forces  and  bear  down 
on  the  knot  of  boys. 

There  is  no  time  to  explain,  and  Tom's  heart  beats  frightfully 
quick  as  he  ponders,  "Will  they  stand  by  us  ?" 

The  farmer  makes  a  rush  at  East  and  collars  him;  and  that 

[269] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

young  gentleman,  with  unusual  discretion,  instead  of  kicking  his 
shins,  looks  appealingly  at  Holmes  and  stands  still, 

"Hullo,  there!  not  so  fast,"  says  Holmes,  who  is  bound  to 
stand  up  for  them  till  they  are  proved  in  the  wrong.  "Now, 
what's  all  this  about  ?" 

"I've  got  the  young  varmint  at  last,  have  I!"  pants  the  farmer; 
"why,  they've  been  a-skulking  about  my  yard  and  stealing  my 
fowls,  that's  where  'tis;  and  if  I  doan't  have  they  flogged  for  it, 
every  one  on  'em,  my  name  ain't  Thompson." 

Holmes  looks  grave,  and  Diggs's  face  falls.  They  are  quite 
ready  to  fight,  no  boys  in  the  school  more  so;  but  they  are  praepos- 
tors, and  understand  their  office,  and  can't  uphold  unrighteous 


causes. 


I  haven't  been  near  his  old  barn  this  half,"  cries  East.  "Nor 
I,"  "Nor  I,"  chime  in  Tom  and  Martin. 

"  Now,  Willum,  didn't  you  see  'm  there  last  week  .?" 

"Ees,  I  seen  'em  sure  enough,"  says  Willum,  grasping  a  prong 
he  carried  and  preparing  for  action. 

The  boys  deny  stoutly,  and  Willum  is  driven  to  admit  that,  "  if 
it  worn't  they,  'twas  chaps  as  like  'em  as  two  peas'n;  and  "least- 
ways he'll  swear  he  seed  them  two  in  the  yard  last  Martinmas," 
indicating  East  and  Tom. 

Holmes  had  time  to  meditate.  "Now,  sir,"  says  he  to  Willum, 
"you  see  you  can't  remember  what  you  have  seen,  and  I  believe 
the  boys." 

"I  doan't  care,"  blusters  the  farmer;  "they  was  arter  my  fowls 
to-day,  that's  enough  for  I.  Willum,  you  catch  hold  o'  t'other 
chap.  They've  been  a-sneaking  about  this  two  hours,  I  tells  'ee," 
shouted  he,  as  Holmes  stands  between  Martin  and  Willum,  "and 
have  druv  a  matter  of  a  dozen  young  pullets  pretty  nigh  to  death." 

*'Oh,  there's  a  whacker!"  cried  East;  "we  haven't  been  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  his  barn;  we  haven't  been  up  here  above  ten 
minutes,  and  we've  seen  nothing  but  a  tough  old  guinea-hen, 
who  ran  like  a  greyhound." 

[270] 


,1  v\v;%^,«^  .-,^ 


-^^^'^K!^i 


J. 


"OH,  THERE'S  A  WHACKER!"   CRH-D   EAST 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"Indeed,  that's  all  true,  Holmes,  upon  my  honor,"  added  Tom; 
"we  weren't  after  his  fowls;  the  guinea-hen  ran  out  of  the  hedge 
under  our  feet,  and  we've  seen  nothing  else." 

"Drat  their  talk.  Thee  catch  hold  o'  t'other,  Willum,  and 
come  along  wi'  un." 

"Farmer  Thompson,"  said  Holmes,  warning  off  Willum  and 
the  prong  with  his  stick,  while  Diggs  faced  the  other  shepherd, 
cracking  his  fingers  like  pistol-shots,  "now  listen  to  reason — the 
boys  haven't  been  after  your  fowls,  that's  plain." 

"Tells  'ee  I  seed  'em.     Who  be  you,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

"Never  you  mind,  Farmer,"  answered  Holmes.  "And  now  I'll 
just  tell  you  what  it  is — ^you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  for 
leaving  all  that  poultry  about  with  no  one  to  watch  it,  so  near 
the  school.  You  deserve  to  have  it  all  stolen.  So  if  you  choose 
to  come  up  to  the  Doctor  with  them,  I  shall  go  with  you,  and  tell 
him  what  I  think  of  it." 

The  farmer  began  to  take  Holmes  for  a  master;  besides,  he 
wanted  to  get  back  to  his  flock.  Corporal  punishment  was  out 
of  the  question — the  odds  were  too  great;  so  he  began  to  hint  at 
paying  for  the  damage.  Arthur  jumped  at  this,  offering  to  pay 
anything,  and  the  farmer  immediately  valued  the  guinea-hen  at 
half-a-sovereign. 

"Half-a-sovereign!"  cried  East,  now  released  from  the  farmer's 
grip;  "well,  that  is  a  good  one! — the  hen  ain't  hurt  a  bit,  and 
she's  seven  years  old,  I  know,  and  as  tough  as  whipcord;  she 
couldn't  lay  another  egg  to  save  her  life." 

It  was  at  last  settled  that  they  should  pay  the  farmer  two  shil- 
lings and  his  man  one  shilling,  and  so  the  matter  ended,  to  the 
unspeakable  relief  of  Tom,  who  hadn't  been  able  to  say  a  word, 
being  sick  at  heart  at  the  idea  of  what  the  Doctor  would  think  of 
him;  and  now  the  whole  party  of  boys  marched  off  down  the 
foot-path  toward  Rugby.  Holmes,  who  was  one  of  the  best  boys 
in  the  school,  began  to  improve  the  occasion.  "  Now,  you  young- 
sters," said  he,  as  he  marched  along  in  the  middle  of  them,  "mind 

[273] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

this:  you're  very  well  out  of  this  scrape.  Don't  you  go  near 
Thompson's  barn  again;  do  you  hear?" 

Profuse  promises  from  all,  especially  East. 

"Mind,  I  don't  ask  questions,"  went  on  Mentor,  "but  I  rather 
think  some  of  you  have  been  there  before  this  after  his  chickens. 
Now,  knocking  over  other  people's  chickens  and  running  off 
with  them  is  stealing.  It's  a  nasty  word,  but  that's  the  plain 
English  of  it.  If  the  chickens  were  dead  and  lying  in  a  shop,  you 
wouldn't  take  them,  I  know  that,  any  more  than  you  would  apples 
out  of  Griffith's  basket;  but  there's  no  real  difference  between 
chickens  running  about  and  apples  on  a  tree  and  the  same  articles 
in  a  shop.  I  wish  our  morals  were  sounder  in  such  matters. 
There's  nothing  so  mischievous  as  these  school  distinctions, 
which  jumble  up  right  and  wrong,  and  justify  things  in  us  for 
which  poor  boys  would  be  sent  to  prison."  And  good  old  Holmes 
delivered  his  soul  on  the  walk  home  of  many  wise  sayings,  and, 
as  the  song  says, 

"Geed  'em  a  sight  of  good  advice" — 

which  same  sermon  sank  into  them  all,  more  or  less,  and  very 
penitent  they  were  for  several  hours.  But  truth  compels  me  to 
admit  that  East,  at  any  rate,  forgot  it  all  in  a  week,  but  remem- 
bered the  insult  which  had  been  put  upon  him  by  Farmer  Thomp- 
son, and,  with  the  Tadpole  and  other  harebrained  youngsters, 
committed  a  raid  on  the  barn  soon  afterward,  in  which  they  were 
caught  by  the  shepherds  and  severely  handled,  besides  having  to 
pay  eight  shillings,  all  the  money  they  had  in  the  world,  to  escape 
being  taken  up  to  the  Doctor. 

Martin  became  a  constant  inmate  in  the  joint  study  from  this 
time,  and  Arthur  took  to  him  so  kindly  that  Tom  couldn't  resist 
slight  fits  of  jealousy,  which,  however,  he  managed  to  keep  to 
himself.  The  kestrel's  eggs  had  not  been  broken,  strange  to  say, 
and  formed  the  nucleus  of  Arthur's  collection,  at  which  Martin 
worked  heart  and  soul;  and  introduced  Arthur  to  Howlett,  the 

[  274  ] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

bird-fancier,  and  instructed  him  in  the  rudiments  of  the  art  of 
stuffing.  In  token  of  his  gratitude,  Arthur  allowed  Martin  to 
tattoo  a  small  anchor  on  one  of  his  wrists,  which  decoration,  how- 
ever, he  carefully  concealed  from  Tom.  Before  the  end  of  the 
half-year  he  had  trained  into  a  bolder  climber  and  good  runner, 
and,  as  Martin  had  foretold,  knew  twice  as  much  about  trees, 
birds,  flowers,  and  many  other  things  as  our  good-hearted  and 
facetious  young  friend  Harry  East. 


TOM   BROWN'S 


CHAPTER  V 


THE    FIGHT 

"Surgebat  Macnevisius 

Et  mox  jactabat   ultro, 
Pugnabo  tua  gratia 

Feroci   hoc  Mactwoltro." — Etonian. 

HERE  is  a  certain  sort  of  fellow — we  who  are 
used  to  studying  boys  all  know  him  well 
enough  —  of  whom  you  can  predicate  with 
almost  positive  certainty,  after  he  has  been  a 
month  at  school,  that  he  is  sure  to  have  a 
fight,  and  with  almost  equal  certainty  that  he 
will  have  but  one.  Tom  Brown  was  one  of 
these;  and  as  it  is  our  well-weighed  intention  to  give  a  full,  true, 
and  correct  account  of  Tom's  only  single  combat  with  a  school- 
fellow in  the  manner  of  our  old  friend  Bell's  Life,  let  those  young 
persons  whose  stomachs  are  not  strong,  or  who  think  a  good  set-to 

[276] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

with  the  weapons  which  God  has  given  us  all  an  uncivilized, 
unchristian,  or  ungentlemanly  affair,  just  skip  this  chapter  at 
once,  for  it  won't  be  to  their  taste. 

It  was  not  at  all  usual  in  those  days  for  two  School-house  boys 
to  have  a  fight.  Of  course,  there  were  exceptions,  when  some 
cross-grained,  hard-headed  fellow  came  up  who  would  never  be 
happy  unless  he  was  quarrelling  with  his  nearest  neighbors,  or 
when  there  was  some  class  dispute,  between  the  fifth  form  and 
the  fags,  for  instance,  which  required  blood-letting;  and  a  cham- 
pion was  picked  out  on  each  side  tacitly,  who  settled  the  matter 
by  a  good,  hearty  mill.  But  for  the  most  part  the  constant  use 
of  those  surest  keepers  of  the  peace,  the  boxing-gloves,  kept  the 
School-house  boys  from  fighting  one  another.  Two  or  three 
nights  in  every  week  the  gloves  were  brought  out,  either  in  the 
hall  or  fifth-form  room;  and  every  boy  who  was  ever  likely  to  fight 
at  all  knew  all  his  neighbors*  prowess  perfectly  well,  and  could 
tell  to  a  nicety  what  chance  he  would  have  in  a  stand-up  fight  with 
any  other  boy  in  the  house.  But,  of  course,  no  such  experience 
could  be  gotten  as  regarded  boys  in  other  houses;  and  as  most  of 
the  other  houses  were  more  or  less  jealous  of  the  School-house, 
collisions  were  frequent. 

After  all,  what  would  life  be  without  fighting,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?  From  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  fighting,  rightly  under- 
stood, is  the  business,  the  real,  highest,  honestest  business  of 
every  son  of  man.  Every  one  who  is  worth  his  salt  has  his  ene- 
mies, who  must  be  beaten,  be  they  evil  thoughts  and  habits  in 
himself,  or  spiritual  wickedness  in  high  places,  or  Russians,  or 
Border-ruffians,  or  Bill,  Tom,  or  Harry,  who  will  not  let  him  live 
his  life  in  quiet  till  he  has  thrashed  them. 

It  is  no  good  for  Quakers,  or  any  other  body  of  men,  to  uplift 
their  voices  against  fighting.  Human  nature  is  too  strong  for 
them,  and  they  don't  follow  their  own  precepts.  Every  soul  of 
them  is  doing  his  own  piece  of  fighting,  somehow  and  somewhere. 
The  world  might  be  a  better  world  without  fighting,  for  anything 

[277] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

I  know,  but  it  wouldn't  be  our  world;  and  therefore  I  am  dead 
against  crying  peace  when  there  is  no  peace,  and  isn't  meant  to 
be.  I  am  as  sorry  as  any  man  to  see  folk  fighting  the  wrong 
people  and  the  wrong  things,  but  I'd  a  deal  sooner  see  them  doing 
that  than  that  they  should  have  no  fight  in  them.  So,  having 
recorded,  and  being  about  to  record,  my  hero's  fights  of  all  sorts 
with  all  sorts  of  enemies,  I  shall  now  proceed  to  give  an  account 
of  his  passage-at-arms  with  the  only  one  of  his  school-fellows 
whom  he  ever  had  to  encounter  in  this  manner. 

It  was  drawing  toward  the  close  of  Arthur's  first  half-year,  and 
the  May  evenings  were  lengthening  out.  Locking-up  was  not  till 
eight  o'clock,  and  everybody  was  beginning  to  talk  about  what  he 
would  do  in  the  holidays.  The  shell,  in  which  form  all  our 
dramatis  persona;  now  are,  were  reading  among  other  things  the 
last  book  of  Homer's  Iliad,  and  had  worked  through  it  as  far 
as  the  speeches  of  the  women  over  Hector's  body.  It  is  a  whole 
school  day,  and  four  or  five  of  the  School-house  boys  (among 
whom  are  Arthur,  Tom,  and  East)  are  preparing  third  lesson 
together.  They  have  finished  the  regulation  forty  lines,  and  are 
for  the  most  part  getting  very  tired,  notwithstanding  the  exqui- 
site pathos  of  Helen's  lamentation.  And  now  several  long,  four- 
syllabled  words  come  together,  and  the  boy  with  the  dictionary 
strikes  work. 

"I  am  not  going  to  look  out  any  more  words,"  says  he;  ** we've 
done  the  quantity.  Ten  to  one  we  sha'n't  get  so  far.  Let's  go 
out  into  the  close.'* 

"Come  along,  boys,"  cries  East,  always  ready  to  leave  the 
grind,  as  he  called  it;  "our  old  coach  is  laid  up,  you  know,  and  we 
shall  have  one  of  the  new  masters,  who's  sure  to  go  slow  and  let 
us  down  easy." 

So  an  adjournment  to  the  close  was  carried  nem.  con.,  little 
Arthur  not  daring  to  uplift  his  voice;  but,  being  deeply  interested 
in  what  they  were  reading,  stayed  quietly  behind  and  learned  on 
for  his  own  pleasure. 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

As  East  had  said,  the  regular  master  of  the  form  was  unwell, 
and  they  were  to  be  heard  by  one  of  the  new  masters,  quite  a 
young  man,  who  had  only  just  left  the  university.  Certainly,  it 
would  be  hard  lines  if,  by  dawdling  as  much  as  possible  in  coming 
in  and  taking  their  places,  entering  into  long-winded  explanations 
of  what  was  the  usual  course  of  the  regular  master  of  the  form, 
and  others  of  the  stock  contrivances  of  boys  for  wasting  time  in 
school,  they  could  not  spin  out  the  lesson  so  that  he  should  not 
work  them  though  more  than  the  forty  lines;  as  to  which  quantity 
there  was  a  perpetual  fight  going  on  between  the  master  and  his 
form,  the  latter  insisting,  and  enforcing  by  passive  resistance, 
that  it  was  the  prescribed  quantity  of  Homer  for  a  shell  lesson, 
the  former  that  there  was  no  fixed  quantity,  but  that  they  must 
always  be  ready  to  go  on  to  fifty  or  sixty  lines  if  there  were  time 
within  the  hour.  However,  notwithstanding  all  their  efforts,  the 
new  master  got  on  horribly  quick;  he  seemed  to  have  the  bad 
taste  to  be  really  interested  in  the  lesson,  and  to  be  trying  to  work 
them  up  into  something  like  appreciation  of  it,  giving  them  good, 
spirited  E^nglish  words  instead  of  the  wretched,  bald  stuff  into 
which  they  rendered  poor  old  Homer;  and  construing  over  each 
piece  himself  to  them,  after  each  boy,  to  show  them  how  it  should 
be  done. 

Now  the  clock  strikes  the  three-quarters;  there  is  only  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  more;  but  the  forty  lines  are  all  but  done.  So  the  boys, 
one  after  another,  who  are  called  up,  stick  more  and  more,  and 
make  balder  and  ever  more  bald  work  of  it.  The  poor  young 
master  is  pretty  nearly  beat  by  this  time,  and  feels  ready  to  knock 
his  head  against  the  wall,  or  his  fingers  against  somebody  else's 
head.  So  he  gives  up  altogether  the  lower  and  middle  parts  of 
the  form,  and  looks  round  in  despair  at  the  boys  on  the  top  bench, 
to  see  if  there  is  one  out  of  whom  he  can  strike  a  spark  or  two,  and 
who  will  be  too  chivalrous  to  murder  the  most  beautiful  utterances 
of  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  the  old  world.  His  eye  rests  on 
Arthur,  and  he  calls  him  up  to  finish  construing  Helen's  speech. 

[279] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Whereupon  all  the  other  boys  draw  long  breaths  and  begin  to 
stare  about  and  take  it  easy.  They  are  all  safe;  Arthur  is  the 
head  of  the  form,  and  sure  to  be  able  to  construe,  and  that  will 
tide  on  safely  till  the  hour  strikes. 

Arthur  proceeds  to  read  out  the  passage  in  Greek  before  con- 
struing it,  as  the  custom  is.  Tom,  who  isn't  paying  much  atten- 
tion, is  suddenly  caught  by  the  falter  in  his  voice  as  he  reads  the 
two  lines — 

AXXa   fjv  T(')V  y    tTrhaai  TrapaifafiEi'og  KarEpvKeg, 
2^  T    ayarofpoavyy  t:at   aoJc   ayapo'ig  ETrieaffiy. 

He  looks  up  at  Arthur.  "Why,  bless  us,"  thinks  he,  "what  can 
be  the  matter  with  the  young  un  ?  He's  never  going  to  get 
floored.  He's  sure  to  have  learned  to  the  end."  Next  moment 
he  is  reassured  by  the  spirited  tone  in  which  Arthur  begins  con- 
struing, and  betakes  himself  to  drawing  dogs'  heads  in  his  note- 
book, while  the  master,  evidently  enjoying  the  change,  turns  his 
back  on  the  middle  bench  and  stands  before  Arthur,  beating  a 
sort  of  time  with  his  hand  and  foot,  and  saying,  "Yes,  yes,"  "very 
well,"  as  Arthur  goes  on. 

But  as  he  nears  the  fatal  two  lines  Tom  catches  that  falter 
and  again  looks  up.  He  sees  that  there  is  something  the  matter 
— Arthur  can  hardly  get  on  at  all.     What  can  it  be  ? 

Suddenly  at  this  point  Arthur  breaks  down  altogether  and 
fairly  bursts  out  crying,  and  dashes  the  cufi^  of  his  jacket  across 
his  eyes,  blushing  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  and  feeling  as  if  he 
should  like  to  go  down  suddenly  through  the  floor.  The  whole 
form  are  taken  aback;  most  of  them  stare  stupidly  at  him,  while 
those  who  are  gifted  with  presence  of  mind  find  their  places  and 
look  steadily  at  their  books,  in  hopes  of  not  catching  the  master's 
eye  and  getting  called  up  in  Arthur's  place. 

The  master  looks  puzzled  for  a  moment,  and  then  seeing,  as 
the  fact  is,  that  the  boy  is  really  afi'ected  to  tears  by  the  most 
touching  thing   in   Homer,   perhaps   in   all   profane   poetry  put 

[280] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

together,  steps  uj)  to  him  and  lays  his  hand  kindly  on  liis  shoulder, 
saying,  "Never  mind,  my  little  man,  you've  construed  very  well. 
Stop  a  minute,  there's  no  hurry." 

Now,  as  luck  would  have  it,  there  sat  next  above  Tom  that  day, 
in  the  middle  bench  of  the  form,  a  big  boy,  by  name  Williams, 
generally  supposed  to  be  the  cock  of  the  shell,  therefore  of  all  the 
school  below  the  fifths.  The  small  boys,  who  are  great  specu- 
lators on  the  prowess  of  their  elders,  used  to  hold  forth  to  one 
another  about  Williams's  great  strength,  and  to  discuss  whether 
East  or  Brown  would  take  a  licking  from  him.  He  was  called 
Slogger  Williams,  from  the  force  with  which  it  was  supposed  he 
could  hit.  In  the  main,  he  was  a  rough,  good-natured  fellow 
enough,  but  very  much  alive  to  his  own  dignity.  lie  reckoned 
himself  the  king  of  the  form,  and  kept  up  his  position  with  a 
strong  hand,  especially  in  the  matter  of  forcing  boys  not  to  con- 
strue more  than  the  legitimate  forty  lines.  He  had  already  grunted 
and  grumbled  to  himself  when  Arthur  went  on  reading  beyond 
the  forty  lines.  But  now  that  he  had  broken  down  just  in  the 
middle  of  all  the  long  words,  the  Slogger's  wrath  was  fairly  roused. 

"Sneaking  little  brute,"  muttered  he,  regardless  of  prudence, 
"clapping  on  the  waterworks  just  in  the  hardest  place;  see  if  I 
don't  punch  his  head  after  fourth  lesson." 

"Whose?"  said  Tom,  to  whom  the  remark  seemed  to  be 
addressed. 

"Why,  that  little  sneak  Arthur's,"  replied  Williams. 

"No,  you  sha'n't,"  said  Tom. 

"Hullo!"  exclaimed  Williams,  looking  at  Tom  with  great  sur- 
prise for  a  moment,  and  then  giving  him  a  sudden  dig  in  the  ribs 
with  his  elbow,  which  sent  Tom's  books  flying  on  the  floor  and 
called  the  attention  of  the  master,  who  turned  suddenly  round 
and,  seeing  the  state  of  things,  said: 

"Williams,  go  down  three  places,  and  then  go  on." 

The  Slogger  found  his  legs  very  slowly,  and  proceeded  to  go 
below  Tom  and  two  other  boys  with  great  disgust,  and  then,  turn- 
20  [281] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

ing  round  and  facing  the  master,  said,  "I  haven't  learned  any 
more,  sir;  our  lesson  is  only  forty  lines." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  the  master,  appealing  generally  to  the  top 
bench.     No  answer. 

"Who  is  the  head  boy  of  the  form  .?"  said  he,  waxing  wroth. 

"Arthur,  sir,"  answered  three  or  four  boys,  indicating  our 
friend. 

"Oh,  your  name's  Arthur.  Well,  now,  what  is  the  length  of 
your  regular  lesson  .f*" 

Arthur  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "We  call  it  only 
forty  lines,  sir." 

"How  do  you  mean,  you  call  it?" 

"Well,  sir,  Mr.  Graham  says  we  ain't  to  stop  there  when  there's 
time  to  construe  more." 

"I  understand,"  said  the  master.  "Williams,  go  down  three 
more  places,  and  write  me  out  the  lesson  in  Greek  and  English. 
And  now,  Arthur,  finish  construing." 

"Oh!  would  I  be  in  Arthur's  shoes  after  fourth  lesson?"  said 
the  little  boys  to  one  another;  but  Arthur  finished  Helen's  speech 
without  any  further  catastrophe,  and  the  clock  struck  four,  which 
ended  third  lesson. 

Another  hour  was  occupied  in  preparing  and  saying  fourth 
lesson,  during  which  Williams  was  bottling  up  his  wrath;  and 
when  five  struck,  and  the  lessons  for  the  day  were  over,  he  pre- 
pared to  take  summary  vengeance  on  the  innocent  cause  of  his 
misfortune. 

Tom  was  detained  in  school  a  few  minutes  after  the  rest,  and, 
on  coming  out  into  the  quadrangle,  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  a 
small  ring  of  boys  applauding  Williams,  who  was  holding  Arthur 
by  the  collar. 

"There,  you  young  sneak,"  said  he,  giving  Arthur  a  cuff  on  the 
head  with  his  other  hand,  "what  made  you  say  that — " 

"Hullo!"  said  Tom,  shouldering  into  the  crowd;  "you  drop 
that,  Williams;  you  sha'n't  touch  him." 

[282] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"Who'll  Stop  me?"  said  the  Slogger,  raising  his  hand  again. 

"I,"  said  Tom;  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  struck 
the  arm  which  held  Arthur's  arm  so  sharply  that  the  Slogger 
dropped  it  with  a  start  and  turned  the  full  current  of  his  wrath 
on  Tom. 

"Will  you  fight?" 

*' Yes,  of  course." 

*'  Huzza !  there's  going  to  be  a  fight  between  Slogger  Williams 
and  Tom  Brown!" 

The  news  ran  like  wildfire  about,  and  many  boys  who  were  on 
their  way  to  tea  at  their  several  houses  turned  back  and  sought 
the  back  of  the  chapel,  where  the  fights  come  oflP. 

"Just  run  and  tell  East  to  come  and  back  me,"  said  Tom  to 
a  small  School-house  boy,  who  was  off  like  a  rocket  to  Har- 
rowell's,  just  stopping  for  a  moment  to  poke  his  head  into  the 
School-house  hall,  where  the  lower  boys  were  already  at  tea,  and 
sing  out,  "Fight! — Tom  Brown  and  Slogger  W^illiams!" 

Up  start  half  the  boys  at  once,  leaving  bread,  eggs,  butter, 
sprats,  and  all  the  rest  to  take  care  of  themselves.  The  greater 
part  of  the  remainder  follow  in  a  minute,  after  swallowing  their 
tea,  carrying  their  food  in  their  hands  to  consume  as  they  go. 
Three  or  four  only  remain,  who  steal  the  butter  of  the  more  im- 
petuous, and  make  to  themselves  an  unctuous  feast. 

In  another  minute  P.ast  and  Martin  tear  through  the  quad- 
rangle carrying  a  sponge,  and  arrive  at  the  scene  of  action  just 
as  the  combatants  are  beginning  to  strip. 

Tom  felt  he  had  got  his  work  cut  out  for  him,  as  he  stripped  off 
his  jacket,  waistcoat,  and  braces.  East  tied  his  handkerchief 
round  his  waist,  and  rolled  up  his  shirt-sleeves  for  him:  "Now, 
old  boy,  don't  you  open  your  mouth  to  say  a  word  or  try  to  help 
yourself  a  bit;  we'll  do  all  that;  you  keep  all  your  breath  and 
strength  for  the  Slogger."  Martin,  meanwhile,  folded  the  clothes 
and  put  them  under  the  chapel  rails;  and  now  Tom,  with  East  to 
handle  him  and  Martin  to  give  him  a  knee,  steps  out  on  the  turf 

[  J8.i  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

and  is  ready  for  all  that  may  come;  and  here  is  the  Slogger,  too, 
all  stripped  and  thirsting  for  the  fray. 

It  doesn't  look  like  a  fair  match  at  first  glance :  Williams  is  nearly 
two  inches  taller  and  probably  a  long  year  older  than  his  opponent, 
and  he  is  very  strongly  made  about  the  arms  and  shoulders; 
"peels  well,"  as  the  little  knot  of  big  fifth-form  boys,  the  amateurs, 
say,  who  stand  outside  the  ring  of  little  boys,  looking  complacently 
on,  but  taking  no  active  part  in  the  proceedings.  But  down 
below  he  is  not  so  good  by  any  means — no  spring  from  the  loins, 
and  feeblish,  not  to  say  shipwrecky,  about  the  knees.  Tom,  on 
the  contrary,  though  not  half  so  strong  in  the  arms,  is  good  all 
over — straight,  hard,  and  springy  from  neck  to  ankle— better, 
perhaps,  in  his  legs  than  anywhere.  Besides,  you  can  see  by  the 
clear  white  of  his  eye  and  fresh,  bright  look  of  his  skin  that  he  is 
in  tiptop  training,  able  to  do  all  he  knows;  while  the  Slogger  looks 
rather  sodden,  as  if  he  didn't  take  much  exercise  and  ate  too  much 
tuck.  The  timekeeper  is  chosen,  a  large  ring  made,  and  the 
two  stand  up  opposite  each  other  for  a  moment,  giving  us  time 
just  to  make  our  little  observations. 

"If  Tom  '11  only  condescend  to  fight  with  his  head  and  heels," 
as  East  mutters  to  Martin,  "we  shall  do." 

But  seemingly  he  won't,  for  there  he  goes  in,  making  play  with 
both  hands.  Hard  all  is  the  word;  the  two  stand  to  each  other 
like  men;  rally  follows  rally  in  quick  succession,  each  fighting  as 
if  he  thought  to  finish  the  whole  thing  out  of  hand.  "Can't  last 
at  this  rate,"  say  the  knowing  ones,  while  the  partisans  of  each 
make  the  air  ring  with  their  shouts  and  counter-shouts  of  encour- 
agement, approval,  and  defiance. 

"Take  it  easy!  take  it  easy! — keep  away!  let  him  come  after  you!" 
implores  East,  as  he  wipes  Tom's  face  after  the  first  round  with 
wet  sponge,  while  he  sits  back  on  Martin's  knee,  supported  by  the 
Madman's  long  arms,  which  tremble  a  little  from  excitement. 

"Time's  up,"  calls  the  timekeeper. 

"There  he  goes  again,  hang  it  all!"  growls  East,  as  his  man  is 

[284] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

at  it  again,  as  hard  as  ever.  A  very  severe  round  follows,  in  which 
^roni  gets  out  and  out  the  worst  of  it,  and  is  at  last  hit  clean  off 
his  legs,  and  deposited  on  the  grass  by  a  right-hander  from  the 
S!()"[(i[er. 

Loud  shouts  rise  from  the  boys  of  Slogger's  house,  and  the 
School-house  are  silent  and  vicious,  ready  to  pick  (juarrels  any- 
where. 

"Two  to  one  in  half-crow^ns  on  the  big  un,"  says  Rattle,  one  of 
the  amateurs,  a  tall  fellow,  in  thunder-and-lightning  waistcoat, 
and  puffy,  good-natured  face. 

"Done!"  says  Groove,  another  amateur  of  quieter  look,  taking 
out  his  note-book  to  enter  it — for  our  friend  Rattle  sometimes 
forgets  these  little  things. 

Meantime,  East  is  freshening  up  Tom  with  the  sponges  for  next 
round,  and  has  set  two  other  boys  to  rub  his  hands. 

"Tom,  old  boy,"  whispers  he,  "this  may  be  fun  for  you,  but 
it's  death  to  me.  He'll  hit  all  the  fight  out  of  you  in  another  five 
minutes,  and  then  I  shall  go  and  drown  myself  in  the  island  ditch. 
Feint  him — use  your  legs! — draw  him  about!  he'll  lose  his  wind, 
then,  in  no  time,  and  you  can  go  into  him.  Hit  at  his  body,  too, 
we'll  take  care  of  his  frontispiece  by-and-by.'* 

Tom  felt  the  wisdom  of  the  counsel,  and  saw  already  that  he 
couldn't  go  in  and  finish  the  Slogger  off  at  mere  hammer  and 
tongs,  so  changed  his  tactics  completely  in  the  third  round.  He 
now  fights  cautious,  getting  away  from  and  parrying  the  Slogger's 
lunging  hits,  instead  of  trying  to  counter,  and  leading  his  enemy 
a  dance  all  round  the  ring  after  him.  "He's  funking;  go  in, 
Williams,"  "Catch  him  up,"  "Finish  him  off,"  scream  the  small 
boys  of  the  Slogger  party. 

"Just  what  we  want,"  thinks  East,  chuckling  to  himself,  as  he 
sees  Williams,  excited  by  these  shouts,  and  thinking  the  game 
in  his  own  hands,  blowing  himself  in  his  exertions  to  get  to 
close  quarters  again,  while  Tom  is  keeping  away  with  perfect 
ease. 

(285] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

They  quarter  over  the  ground  again  and  again,  Tom  always 
on  the  defensive. 

The  Slogger  pulls  up  at  last  for  a  moment,  fairly  blown. 

"Now,  then,  Tom,"  sings  out  East,  dancing  with  delight. 
Tom  goes  in  in  a  twinkling,  and  hits  two  heavy  body  blows,  and 
gets  away  again  before  the  Slogger  can  catch  his  wind;  which, 
when  he  does,  he  rushes  with  blind  fury  at  Tom,  and,  being  skil- 
fully parried  and  avoided,  overreaches  himself  and  falls  on  his 
face,  amid  terrific  cheers  from  the  School-house  boys. 

"Double  your  two  to  one.?"  says  Groove  to  Rattle,  note-book 
in  hand. 

"Stop  a  bit,"  says  that  hero,  looking  uncomfortably  at  Williams, 
who  is  puffing  away  on  his  second's  knee,  winded  enough,  but 
little  the  worse  in  any  other  way. 

After  another  round  the  Slogger,  too,  seems  to  see  that  he  can't 
go  in  and  win  right  off,  and  has  met  his  match  or  thereabouts.  So 
he,  too,  begins  to  use  his  head,  and  tries  to  make  Tom  lose  patience 
and  come  in  before  his  time.  And  so  the  fight  sways  on,  now  one, 
and  now  the  other,  getting  a  trifling  pull. 

Tom's  face  begins  to  look  very  one-sided — there  are  little  queer 
bumps  on  his  forehead,  and  his  mouth  is  bleeding;  but  East  keeps 
the  wet  sponge  going  so  scientifically,  that  he  comes  up  looking  as 
fresh  and  bright  as  ever.  Williams  is  only  slightly  marked  in  the 
face,  but  by  the  nervous  movement  of  his  elbows  you  can  see  that 
Tom's  body  blows  are  telling.  In  fact,  half  the  vice  of  the  Slog- 
ger's  hitting  is  neutralized,  for  he  daren't  lunge  out  freely  for  fear 
of  exposing  his  sides.  It  is  too  interesting  by  this  time  for  much 
shouting,  and  the  whole  ring  is  very  quiet. 

"All  right.  Tommy,"  whispers  East;  "hold  on's  the  horse  that's 
to  win.     We've  got  the  last.     Keep  your  head,  old  boy." 

But  where  is  Arthur  all  this  time .?  Words  cannot  paint  the 
poor  little  fellow's  distress.  He  couldn't  muster  courage  to  come 
up  to  the  ring,  but  wandered  up  and  down  from  the  great  fives'- 
court  to  the  corner  of  the  chapel  rails.     Now  trying  to  make  up 

[286] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

his  mind  to  throw  himself  between  them  and  try  to  stop  them; 
then  thinking  of  running  in  and  telhng  his  friend  Mary,  who  he 
knew  would  instantly  report  to  the  Doctor.  The  stories  he  had 
heard  of  men  being  killed  in  prize-fights  rose  up  horribly  before  him. 

Once  only,  when  the  shouts  of  "Well  done.  Brown!"  "Ilu/.za 
for  the  School-house!"  rose  higher  than  ever,  he  ventured  up  to 
the  ring,  thinking  the  victory  was  won.  Catching  sight  of  Tom's 
face  in  the  state  I  have  described,  all  fear  of  consequences  vanish- 
ing out  of  his  mind,  he  rushed  straight  off  to  the  matron's  room, 
beseeching  her  to  get  the  fight  stopped,  or  he  should  die. 

But  it's  time  for  us  to  get  back  to  the  close.  What  is  this  fierce 
tumult  and  confusion  ?  The  ring  is  broken,  and  high  and  angry 
words  are  being  bandied  about;  "It's  all  fair" — "It  isn't" — "No 
hugging";  the  fight  is  stopped.  The  combatants,  however,  sit 
there  quietly,  tended  by  their  seconds,  while  their  adherents 
wrangle  in  the  middle.  East  can't  help  shouting  challenges  to 
two  or  three  of  the  other  side,  though  he  never  leaves  Tom  for  a 
moment,  and  plies  the  sponges  as  fast  as  ever. 

The  fact  is,  that  at  the  end  of  the  last  round,  Tom,  seeing  a 
good  opening,  had  closed  with  his  opponent,  and  after  a  moment's 
struggle  had  thrown  him  heavily,  by  the  help  of  the  fall  he  had 
learned  from  his  village  rival  in  the  vale  of  W^hite  Horse.  Wil- 
liams hadn't  the  ghost  of  a  chance  with  Tom  at  wrestling;  and 
the  conviction  broke  at  once  on  the  Slogger  faction  that,  if  this 
were  allowed,  their  man  must  be  licked.  There  was  a  strong  feel- 
ing in  the  school  against  catching  hold  and  throwing,  though  it 
was  generally  ruled  all  fair  within  certain  limits;  so  the  ring  was 
broken  and  the  fight  stopped. 

The  School-house  are  overruled — the  fight  is  on  again,  but 
there  is  to  be  no  throwing;  and  East  in  high  wrath  threatens  to 
take  his  man  away  after  next  round  (which  he  doesn't  mean  to  do, 
by-the-way),  when  suddenly  young  Brooke  comes  through  the 
small  gate  at  the  end  of  the  chapel.  The  School-house  faction 
rush  to  him.     "Oh,  hurra!  now  we  shall  get  fair  play." 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Please,  Brooke,  come  up;  they  won't  let  Tom  Brown  throw 
him." 

"Throw  whom?"  says  Brooke,  coming  up  to  the  ring.  "Oh! 
Williams,  I  see.  Nonsense!  of  course  he  may  throw  him  if  he 
catches  him  fairly  above  the  waist." 

Now,  young  Brooke,  you're  in  the  sixth,  you  know,  and  you 
ought  to  stop  all  fights.  He  looks  hard  at  both  boys.  "Anything 
wrong  .?"  says  he  to  East,  nodding  at  Tom. 

"Not  a  bit." 

"Not  beat  at  all?" 

"Bless  you,  no!  heaps  of  fight  in  him.     Ain't  there,  Tom .?" 

Tom  looks  at  Brooke  and  grins. 

"How's  he?'*  nodding  at  Williams. 

"So,  so;  rather  done,  I  think,  since  his  last  fall.  He  won't 
stand  above  two  more." 

"Tim^e's  up!"  the  boys  rise  again  and  face  each  other.  Brooke 
can't  find  it  in  his  heart  to  stop  them  just  yet,  so  the  round  goes 
on,  the  Slogger  waiting  for  Tom,  and  reserving  all  his  strength 
to  hit  him  out  should  he  come  in  for  the  wrestling  dodge  again, 
for  he  feels  that  that  must  be  stopped,  or  his  sponge  will  soon  go 
up  in  the  air. 

And  now  another  newcomer  appears  on  the  field,  to  wit,  the 
under-porter,  with  his  long  brush  and  great  wooden  receptacle 
for  dust  under  his  arm.     He  has  been  sweeping  out  the  schools. 

"You'd  better  stop,  gentlemen,"  he  says;  "the  Doctor  knows 
that  Brown's  fighting — ^he'U  be  out  in  a  minute." 

"You  go  to  Bath,  Bill,"  is  all  that  that  excellent  servitor  gets 
by  his  advice.  And  being  a  man  of  his  hands,  and  a  stanch 
upholder  of  the  School-house,  can't  help  stopping  to  look  on  for 
a  bit,  and  see  Tom  Brown,  their  pet  craftsman,  fight  a  round. 

It  is  grim  earnest  now,  and  no  mistake.  Both  boys  feel  this, 
and  summon  every  power  of  head,  hand,  and  eye  to  their  aid.  A 
piece  of  luck  on  either  side,  a  foot  slipping,  a  blow  getting  well 
home,  or  another  fall,  may  decide  it.     Tom  works  slowly  round 

[288] 


THE  SLOGGER  IS  THROWN  HEAVILY  FOR  THE  THH^D 

TIME 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

for  an  opening;  he  has  all  the  legs,  and  can  choose  his  own  time: 
the  Slogger  waits  for  the  attack,  and  hopes  to  finish  it  by  some 
heavy  right-handed  blow.  As  they  quarter  slowly  over  the 
ground,  the  evening  sun  comes  out  from  behind  a  cloud  and  falls 
full  on  Williams's  face,  Tom  darts  in;  the  heavy  right-hand  is 
delivered,  but  only  grazes  his  head.  A  short  rally  at  close  quar- 
ters, and  they  close;  in  another  moment  the  Slogger  is  thrown 
again  heavily  for  the  third  time. 

"I'll  give  you  three  to  two  on  the  little  one  in  half-crowns," 
said  Groove  to  Rattle. 

*'No,  thank  'ee,"  answers  the  other,  diving  his  hands  farther 
into  his  coat-tails. 

Just  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  the  door  of  the  turret  which 
leads  to  the  Doctor's  library  suddenly  opens,  and  he  steps  into 
the  close,  and  makes  straight  for  the  ring,  in  which  Brown  and 
the  Slogger  are  both  seated  on  their  seconds'  knees  for  the  last 


time. 


The  Doctor!  the  Doctor!"  shouts  some  small  boy  who  catches 
sight  of  him,  and  the  ring  melts  away  in  a  few  seconds,  the  small 
boys  tearing  off,  Tom  collaring  his  jacket  and  waistcoat,  and 
slipping  through  the  little  gate  by  the  chapel,  and  round  the  corner 
to  Harrowell's  with  his  backers,  as  lively  as  need  be;  Williams  and 
his  backers  making  off  not  quite  so  fast  across  the  close;  Groove, 
Rattle,  and  the  other  big  fellows  trying  to  combine  dignity  and 
prudence  in  a  comical  manner,  and  walking  off  fast  enough,  they 
hope,  not  to  be  recognized,  and  not  fast  enough  to  look  like  run- 
ning away. 

Young  Brooke  alone  remains  on  the  ground  by  the  time  the 
Doctor  gets  there,  and  touches  his  hat,  not  without  a  slight  inward 
qualm. 

"Hah!  Brooke.  1  am  surprised  to  see  you  here.  Don't  you 
know  that  I  expect  the  sixth  to  stop  fighting  ?" 

Brooke  felt  much  more  uncomfortable  than  he  had  expected, 
but  he  v/as  rather  a  favorite  with  the  Doctor  for  his  openness  and 

[  291  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

plainness  of  speech;  so  blurted  out,  as  he  walked  by  the  Doctor's 
side,  who  had  already  turned  back: 

"Yes,  sir,  generally.  But  I  thought  you  wished  us  to  exercise 
a  discretion  in  the  matter,  too — not  to  interfere  too  soon." 

"But  they  have  been  fighting  this  half-hour  and  more,"  said 
the  Doctor. 

"Yes,  sir,  but  neither  was  hurt.  And  they're  the  sort  of  boys 
who'll  be  all  the  better  friends  now,  which  they  wouldn't  have 
been  if  they  had  been  stopped  any  earlier — before  it  was  so  equal." 

"Who  was  fighting  with  Brown  ?"  said  the  Doctor. 

"Williams,  sir,  of  Thompson's.  He  is  bigger  than  Brown,  and 
had  the  best  of  it  at  first,  but  not  when  you  came  up,  sir.  There's 
a  good  deal  of  jealousy  between  our  house  and  Thompson's,  and 
there  would  have  been  more  fights  if  this  hadn't  been  let  go  on, 
or  if  either  of  them  had  had  much  the  worst  of  it." 

"Well,  but,  Brooke,"  said  the  Doctor,  "doesn't  this  look  a  little 
as  if  you  exercised  your  discretion  by  only  stopping  a  fight  when 
the  School-house  boy  is  getting  the  worst  of  it .?" 

Brooke,  it  must  be  confessed,  felt  rather  gravelled. 

''Remember,"  added  the  Doctor,  as  he  stopped  at  the  turret- 
door,  "this  fight  is  not  to  go  on — you'll  see  to  that.  And  1  expect 
you  to  stop  all  fights  in  future  at  once." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  young  Brooke,  touching  his  hat,  and  not 
sorry  to  see  the  turret-door  close  behind  the  Doctor's  back. 

Meantime,  Tom  and  the  stanchest  of  his  adherents  had 
reached  Harrowell's,  and  Sally  was  bustling  about  to  get  them  a 
late  tea,  while  Stumps  had  been  sent  off  to  Tew  the  butcher,  to 
get  a  piece  of  raw  beef  for  Tom's  eye,  which  was  to  be  healed 
offhand,  so  that  he  might  show  well  in  the  morning.  He  was 
not  a  bit  the  worse  except  a  slight  difficulty  in  his  vision,  a  singing 
in  his  ears,  and  a  sprained  thumb,  which  he  kept  in  a  cold-water 
bandage  while  he  drank  lots  of  tea  and  listened  to  the  Babel  of 
voices  talking  and  speculating  of  nothing  but  the  fight,  and  how 
Williams  would  have  given  in  after  another  fall  (which  he  didn't 

[292] 


f^  ,v.j?*y!^.§j»sfysj.'«^^ 


^y. 


'^f'&l 


Ljj».t\      «nrAO_ 


"I    EXPECT   YOU   TO    STOP    ALL    FIGHTS    IN    FUTURE 

AT    ONCE" 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

in  the  least  believe),  and  how  on  earth  the  Doctor  could  have  got 
to  know  of  it — such  bad  luck!  He  couldn't  help  thinking  to  him- 
self that  he  was  glad  he  hadn't  won;  he  liked  it  better  as  it  was, 
and  felt  very  friendly  to  the  Slogger.  And  then  poor  little  Arthur 
crept  in  and  sat  down  quietly  near  him,  and  kept  looking  at  him 
and  the  raw  beef  with  such  plaintive  looks  that  Tom  at  last  burst 
out  laughing. 

"Don't  make  such  eyes,  young  un,"  said  he;  "there's  nothing 
the  matter." 

"Oh,  but,  Tom,  are  you  much  hurt.^"  I  can't  bear  thinking  it 
was  all  for  me." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it;  don't  flatter  yourself.  We  were  sure  to  have 
had  it  out  sooner  or  later." 

"Well,  but  you  won't  go  on,  will  you  .?  You'll  promise  me  you 
won't  go  on  .^" 

"Can't  tell  about  that — all  depends  on  the  houses.  We're  in 
the  hands  of  our  countrymen,  you  know.  Must  fight  for  the 
School-house  flag,  if  so  be." 

However,  the  lovers  of  the  science  were  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment this  time.  Directly  after  locking-up,  one  of  the  night-fags 
knocked  at  Tom.'s  door. 

"Brown,  young  Brooke  wants  you  in  the  sixth-form  room." 

Up  went  Tom  to  the  summons,  and  found  the  magnates  sitting 
at  their  supper. 

"Well,  Brown,"  said  young  Brooke,  nodding  to  him,  "how  do 
you  feel  ?" 

"Oh,  very  well,  thank  you,  only  I've  sprained  my  thumb,  I 
think." 

"Sure  to  do  that  in  a  fight.  Well,  you  hadn't  the  worst  of  it, 
I  could  see.     Where  did  you  learn  that  throw .?" 

"Down  in  the  country,  when  1  was  a  boy." 

"Hullo!  why,  what  are  you  now.?  Well,  never  mind,  you're  a 
plucky  fellow.     Sit  down  and  have  some  supper." 

Tom  obeyed,  by  no  means  loath.     And  the  fifth-form  boy  next 

[295] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

him  filled  him  a  tumbler  of  bottled  beer,  and  he  ate  and  drank, 
listening  to  the  pleasant  talk,  and  wondering  how  soon  he  should 
be  in  the  fifth,  and  one  of  that  much-envied  society. 

As  he  got  up  to  leave,  Brooke  said,  "You  must  shake  hands 
to-morrow  morning;  I  shall  come  and  see  that  done  after  first 
lesson." 

And  so  he  did.  And  Tom  and  the  Slogger  shook  hands  with 
great  satisfaction  and  mutual  respect.  And  for  the  next  year  or 
two,  whenever  fights  were  being  talked  of,  the  small  boys  who  had 
been  present  shook  their  heads  wisely,  saying,  "Ah!  but  you 
should  just  have  seen  the  fight  between  Slogger  Williams  and 
Tom  Brown!" 

And  now,  boys  all,  three  words  before  we  quit  the  subject.  I 
have  put  in  this  chapter  on  fighting  of  malice  prepense,  partly 
because  I  want  to  give  you  a  true  picture  of  what  every-day  school 
life  was  in  my  time,  and  not  a  kid-glove  and  go-to-meeting-coat 
picture;  and  partly  because  of  the  cant  and  twaddle  that's  talked 
of  boxing  and  fighting  with  fists  nowadays.  Even  Thackeray  has 
given  in  to  it;  and  only  a  few  weeks  ago  there  was  some  rampant 
stuff  in  the  Times  on  the  subject,  in  an  article  on  field  sports. 

Boys  will  quarrel,  and  when  they  quarrel  will  sometimes  fight. 
Fighting  with  fists  is  the  natural  and  English  way  for  English  boys 
to  settle  their  quarrels.  What  substitute  for  it  is  there,  or  ever 
was  there,  among  any  nation  under  the  sun  ?  What  would  you 
like  to  see  take  its  place  ? 

Learn  to  box,  then,  as  you  learn  to  play  cricket  and  football. 
Not  one  of  you  will  be  the  worse,  but  very  much  the  better  for 
learning  to  box  well.  Should  you  never  have  to  use  it  in  earnest, 
there's  no  exercise  in  the  world  so  good  for  the  temper  and  for 
the  muscles  of  the  back  and  legs. 

As  to  fighting,  keep  out  of  it  if  you  can,  by  all  means.  When 
the  time  comes,  if  it  ever  should,  that  you  have  to  say  "Yes"  or 
"No"  to  a  challenge  to  fight,  say  "No"  if  you  can — only  take 
care  you  make  it  clear  to  yourselves  why  you  say  "No."     It's  a 

[296] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

proot  ot  the  Jiiglicst  a)Uia<;c,  it  done  iruiii  true  Ciuistian  motives. 
It's  quite  right  and  justifiable,  if  done  from  a  simple  aversion  to 
physical  pain  and  danger.  But  don't  say  "No"  because  you  fear 
a  licking,  and  say  or  think  it's  because  you  fear  God,  for  that's 
neither  Christian  nor  honest.  And  if  you  do  fight,  fight  it  out; 
and  don't  give  in  while  you  can  stand  and  sec, 

21 


TOM    BROWN'S 


CHAPTER  VI 

FEVER    IN    THE    SCHOOL 


'This  our  hope  for  all  that's  mortal, 
And  we  too  shall  burst  the  bond; 
Death  keeps  watch  beside  the  portal, 
But  'tis  life  that  dwells  beyond." 

— John  Sterling. 

WO  years  have  passed  since  the  events  recorded 
in  the  last  chapter,  and  the  end  of  the  summer 
half-year  is  again  drawing  on.  Martin  has 
left  and  gone  on  a  cruise  in  the  South  Pacific, 
in  one  of  his  uncle's  ships;  the  old  magpie,  as 
disreputable  as  ever,  his  last  bequest  to  Arthur, 
lives  in  the  joint  study.  Arthur  is  nearly  six- 
teen, and  is  at  the  head  of  the  twenty,  having  gone  up  the  school 
at  the  rate  of  a  form  a  half-year.  East  and  Tom  have  been  much 
more  deliberate  in  their  progress,  and  are  only  a  little  way  up  the 
fifth  form.  Great,  strapping  boys  they  are,  but  still  thorough 
boys,  filling  about  the  same  place  in  the  house  that  young  Brooke 

[298] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

filled  when  they  were  new  boys,  and  much  the  same  sort  of  fellows. 
Constant  intercourse  with  Arthur  has  done  much  for  both  of  them, 
especially  for  Tom;  but  much  remains  yet  to  be  done,  if  they  are 
to  get  all  the  good  out  of  Rugby  which  is  to  be  got  there  in  these 
times.  Arthur  is  still  frail  and  delicate,  with  more  spirit  than 
body;  but,  thanks  to  his  intimacy  with  them  and  Martin,  has 
learned  to  swim  and  run  and  play  cricket,  and  has  never  hurt 
himself  by  too  much  reading. 

One  evening,  as  they  were  all  sitting  down  to  supper  in  the  fifth- 
form  room,  some  one  started  a  report  that  a  fever  had  broken 
out  at  one  of  the  boarding-houses;  "they  say,"  he  added,  "that 
Thompson  is  very  ill,  and  that  Dr.  Robertson  has  been  sent  for 
from  Northampton." 

"Then  we  shall  all  be  sent  home,"  cried  another.  "Hurra! 
five  weeks'  extra  holidays,  and  no  fifth-form  examination!" 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Tom;  "there'll  be  no  Marylebone  match, 
then,  at  the  end  of  the  half." 

Some  thought  one  thing,  some  another,  many  didn't  believe  the 
report;  but  the  next  day,  Tuesday,  Dr.  Robertson  arrived,  and 
stayed  all  day,  and  had  long  conferences  with  the  Doctor. 

On  Wednesday  morning,  after  prayers,  the  Doctor  addressed 
the  whole  school.  There  were  several  cases  of  fever  in  different 
houses,  he  said;  but  Dr.  Robertson,  after  the  most  careful  examina- 
tion, had  assured  him  that  it  was  not  infectious,  and  that  if  proper 
care  were  taken  there  could  be  no  reason  for  stopping  the  school 
work  at  present.  The  examinations  were  just  coming  on,  and  it 
would  be  very  unadvisable  to  break  up  now.  However,  any  boys 
who  chose  to  do  so  were  at  liberty  to  write  home,  and,  if  their 
parents  wished  it,  to  leave  at  once.  He  should  send  the  whole 
school  home  if  the  fever  spread. 

The  next  day  Arthur  sickened,  but  there  was  no  other  case. 
Before  the  end  of  the  week  thirty  or  forty  boys  had  gone,  luit  the 
rest  stayed  on.  There  was  a  general  wish  to  please  the  Doctor, 
and  a  feeling  that  it  was  cowardly  to  run  away. 

[  290  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

On  the  Saturday,  Thompson  died,  in  the  bright  afternoon, 
while  the  cricket-match  was  going  on  as  usual  on  the  big-side 
ground.  The  Doctor,  coming  from  his  death-bed,  passed  along 
the  gravel-walk  at  the  side  of  the  close,  but  no  one  knew  what 
had  happened  till  the  next  day.  At  morning  lecture  it  began  to 
be  rumored,  and  by  afternoon  chapel  was  known  generally;  and 
a  feeling  of  seriousness  and  awe  at  the  actual  presence  of  death 
among  them  came  over  the  whole  school.  In  all  the  long  years 
of  his  ministry  the  Doctor  perhaps  never  spoke  words  which  sank 
deeper  than  some  of  those  in  that  day's  sermon.  "When  I  came 
yesterday  from  visiting  all  but  the  very  death-bed  of  him  who  has 
been  taken  from  us,  and  looked  around  upon  all  the  familiar 
objects  and  scenes  within  our  own  ground,  where  your  common 
amusements  were  going  on,  with  your  common  cheerfulness  and 
activity,  I  felt  there  was  nothing  painful  in  witnessing  that;  it  did 
not  seem  In  any  way  shocking  or  out  of  tune  with  those  feelings 
which  the  sight  of  a  dying  Christian  must  be  supposed  to  awaken. 
The  unsuitableness  in  point  of  natural  feeling  between  scenes  of 
mourning  and  scenes  of  liveliness  did  not  at  all  present  itself. 
But  I  did  feel  that  if  at  that  moment  any  of  those  faults  had  been 
brought  before  me  which  sometimes  occur  among  us;  had  I  heard 
that  any  of  you  had  been  guilty  of  falsehood,  or  of  drunkenness, 
or  of  any  other  such  sin ;  had  I  heard  from  any  quarter  the  language 
of  profaneness,  or  of  unkindness,  or  of  indecency;  had  I  heard  or 
seen  any  signs  of  that  wretched  folly  which  courts  the  laugh  of 
fools  by  affecting  not  to  dread  evil  and  not  to  care  for  good,  then 
the  unsuitableness  of  any  of  these  things  with  the  scene  I  had  just 
quitted  would  indeed  have  been  most  intensely  painful.  And 
why  ^  Not  because  such  things  would  really  have  been  worse 
than  at  any  other  time,  but  because  at  such  a  moment  the  eyes  are 
opened  really  to  know  good  and  evil,  because  we  then  feel  what 
it  is  so  to  live  as  that  death  becomes  an  infinite  blessing,  and  what 
it  is  so  to  live,  also,  that  it  were  good  for  us  if  we  had  never  been 
born." 

[300] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

Tom  had  gone  into  chapel  in  sickening  anxiety  ahout  Arthur, 
but  he  came  out  cheered  and  strengthened  by  those  grand  words, 
and  walked  up  alone  to  their  study.  And  when  he  sat  down  and 
looked  around,  and  saw  Arthur's  straw  hat  and  cricket-jacket 
hanging  on  their  pegs,  and  marked  all  his  little,  neat  arrangements, 
not  one  of  which  had  been  disturbed,  the  tears  indeed  rolled  down 
his  cheeks;  but  they  were  calm  and  blessed  tears,  and  he  repeated 
to  himself,  "Yes,  Geordie's  eyes  are  opened — he  knows  what  it 
is  so  to  live  as  that  death  becomes  an  infinite  blessing.  But  do  I  .? 
Oh,  God,  can  1  bear  to  lose  him  .?" 

The  week  passed  mournfully  away.  No  more  boys  sickened, 
but  Arthur  was  reported  worse  each  day,  and  his  mother  arrived 
early  in  the  week.  Tom  made  many  appeals  to  be  allowed  to  see 
him,  and  several  times  tried  to  get  up  to  the  sick-room;  but  the 
housekeeper  was  always  in  the  way,  and  at  last  spoke  to  the  Doc- 
tor, who  kindly,  but  peremptorily,  forbade  him. 

Thompson  was  buried  on  the  Tuesday;  and  the  burial  service, 
so  soothing  and  grand  always,  but  beyond  all  words  solemn  when 
read  over  a  boy's  grave  to  his  companions,  brought  him  much 
comfort  and  many  strange,  new  thoughts  and  longings.  He  went 
back  to  his  regular  life,  and  played  cricket  and  bathed  as  usual; 
it  seemed  to  him  that  this  was  the  right  thing  to  do,  and  the 
new  thoughts  and  longings  became  more  brave  and  healthy  for 
the  effort.  The  crisis  came  on  Saturday,  the  day  week  that 
Thompson  had  died,  and  during  that  long  afternoon  Tom  sat  in 
his  study  reading  his  Bible  and  going  every  half-hour  to  the  house- 
keeper's room,  expecting  each  time  to  hear  that  the  gentle  and 
brave  little  spirit  had  gone  home.  But  God  had  work  for  Arthur 
to  do;  the  crisis  passed — on  Sunday  evening  he  was  declared  out 
of  danger;  on  Monday  he  sent  a  message  to  Tom  that  he  was 
almost  well,  had  changed  his  room,  and  was  to  be  allowed  to  see 
him  the  next  day. 

It  was  evening  when  the  housekeeper  summoned  him  to  the 
sick-room.     Arthur  was  lying  on  the  sofa  by  the  open  window, 

[301I 


TOM    BROWN'S 

through  which  the  rays  of  the  western  sun  stole  gently,  lighting 
up  his  white  face  and  golden  hair.  Tom  remembered  a  German 
picture  of  an  angel  which  he  knew;  often  he  had  thought  how 
transparent  and  golden  and  spiritlike  it  was;  and  he  shuddered 
to  think  how  like  it  Arthur  looked,  and  felt  a  shock  as  if  his  blood 
had  all  stopped  short  as  he  realized  how  near  the  other  world  his 
friend  must  have  been  to  look  like  that.  Never  till  that  moment 
had  he  felt  how  his  little  chum  had  twined  himself  round  his  heart- 
strings; and  as  he  stole  gently  across  the  room  and  knelt  down, 
and  put  his  arm  round  Arthur's  head  on  the  pillow,  he  felt  ashamed 
and  half  angry  at  his  own  red  and  brown  face  and  the  bounding 
sense  of  health  and  power  which  filled  every  fibre  of  his  body  and 
made  every  movement  of  mere  living  a  joy  to  him.  He  needn't 
have  troubled  himself;  it  was  this  very  strength  and  power  so 
different  from  his  own  which  drew  Arthur  so  to  him. 

Arthur  laid  his  thin,  white  hand,  on  which  the  blue  veins  stood 
out  so  plainly,  on  Tom's  great,  brown  fist,  and  smiled  at  him;  and 
then  looked  out  of  the  window  again,  as  if  he  couldn't  bear  to  lose 
a  moment  of  the  sunset,  into  the  tops  of  the  great  feathery  elms, 
round  which  the  rooks  were  circling  and  clanging,  returning  in 
flocks  from  their  evening's  foraging-parties.  The  elms  rustled, 
the  sparrows  in  the  ivy  just  outside  the  window  chirped  and  flut- 
tered about,  quarrelling  and  making  it  up  again;  the  rooks,  young 
and  old,  talked  in  chorus;  and  the  merry  shouts  of  the  boys  and 
the  sweet  click  of  the  cricket-bats  came  up  cheerily  from  below. 

"Dear  George,"  said  Tom,  "I  am  so  glad  to  be  let  up  to  see 
you  at  last.  I've  tried  hard  to  come  so  often,  but  they  wouldn't 
let  me  before." 

"Oh,  I  know,  Tom;  Mary  has  told  me  every  day  about  you, 
and  how  she  was  obliged  to  make  the  Doctor  speak  to  you  to  keep 
you  away.  I'm  very  glad  you  didn't  get  up,  for  you  might  have 
caught  it,  and  you  couldn't  stand  being  ill  with  all  the  matches 
going  on.     And  you're  in  the  eleven,  too,  I  hear — I'm   so  glad." 

"Yes,  ain't  it  jolly.?"  said  Tom,  proudly;  "I'm  ninth,  too.     I 

[  302  ] 


TOM   PUT   mS   ARM   ROUND  ARTHUR'S   MEAD 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

made  forty  at  the  last  pie-match  and  caught  three  fellows  out.  So 
1  was  put  in  above  Jones  and  Tucker.  Tucker's  so  savage,  for 
he  was  head  of  the  twenty-two." 

"Well,  I  think  you  ought  to  be  higher  yet,"  said  Arthur,  who 
was  as  jealous  for  the  renown  of  Tom  in  games  as  Tom  was  for 
his  as  a  scholar. 

"Never  mind,  I  don't  care  about  cricket  or  anything  now  you're 
getting  well,  Geordie;  and  I  shouldn't  have  hurt,  I  know,  if  they'd 
have  let  me  come  up — nothing  hurts  me.  But  you'll  get  about 
now  directly,  won't  you .?  You  won't  believe  how  clean  I've 
kept  the  study.  All  your  things  are  just  as  you  left  them;  and  I 
feed  the  old  magpie  just  when  you  used,  though  1  have  to  come 
in  from  big-side  for  him,  the  old  rip.  He  won't  look  pleased  all 
I  can  do,  and  sticks  his  head  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the 
other,  and  blinks  at  me  before  he'll  begin  to  eat,  till  I'm  lialf  in- 
clined to  box  his  ears.  And  whenever  East  comes  in,  you  should 
see  him  hop  off  to  the  window,  dot  and  go  one,  though  Harry 
wouldn't  touch  a  feather  of  him  now." 

Artliur  laughed.  "Old  (iravey  has  a  good  memory;  he  can't 
forget  the  sieges  of  poor  Martin's  den  in  old  times."  He  paused 
a  moment,  and  then  went  on:  "You  can't  think  how  often  I've 
been  thinking  of  old  Martin  since  I've  been  ill;  I  suppose  one's 
mind  gets  restless  and  likes  to  wander  off  to  strange,  unknown 
places.  I  wonder  what  queer  new  pets  the  old  boy  has  got;  how 
he  must  be  revelling  in  the  thousand  new  birds,  beasts,  and  fishes!" 

Tcm  felt  a  pang  of  jealousy,  but  kicked  it  out  in  a  moment. 
"Fancy  him  on  a  South  Sea  island,  with  the  Cherokees  or  Pata- 
gonians,  or  some  such  wild  niggers"  (Tom's  ethnology  and  geog- 
raphy were  faulty,  but  sufficient  for  his  needs);  "they'll  make  the 
old  Madman  cock  medicine-man  and  tattoo  him  all  over.  Per- 
haps he's  cutting  about  now,  all  blue,  and  has  a  squaw  and  a 
wigwam.  He'll  improve  their  boomerangs,  and  be  able  to  throw 
them,  too,  without  having  old  Thomas  sent  after  him  by  the 
Doctor  to  take  them  away." 

[  .?05  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Arthur  laughed  at  the  remembrance  of  the  boomerang  story, 
but  then  looked  grave  again,  and  said,  "He'll  convert  all  the 
island,  I  know." 

"Yes,  if  he  don't  blow  it  up  first." 

"Do  you  remember,  Tom,  how  you  and  East  used  to  laugh  at 
him  and  chaff  him,  because  he  said  he  was  sure  the  rooks  all  had 
calling-overs  or  prayers,  or  something  of  the  sort,  when  the  locking- 
up  bell  rang  ?  Well,  I  declare,"  said  Arthur,  looking  up  seriously 
into  Tom's  laughing  eyes,  "I  do  think  he  was  right.  Since  I've 
been  lying  here  I've  watched  them  every  night;  and,  do  you  know, 
they  really  do  come  and  perch,  all  of  them,  just  about  locking-up 
time;  and  then  first  there's  a  regular  chorus  of  caws,  and  then 
they  stop  a  bit,  and  one  old  fellow,  or  perhaps  two  or  three  in 
different  trees,  caw  solos,  and  then  off  they  all  go  again,  fluttering 
about  and  cawing  anyhow  till  they  roost." 

"I  wonder  if  the  old  blackies  do  talk?"  said  Tom,  looking  up 
at  them.  "How  they  must  abuse  me  and  East,  and  pray  for  the 
Doctor  for  stopping  the  slinging." 

"There!  look,  look!"  cried  Arthur;  "don't  you  see  the  old  fellow 
without  a  tail  coming  up?  Martin  used  to  call  him  the  'clerk.' 
He  can't  steer  himself.  You  never  saw  such  fun  as  he  is  in  a  high 
wind,  when  he  can't  steer  himself  home,  and  gets  carried  right 
past  the  trees,  and  has  to  bear  up  again  and  again  before  he  can 
perch." 

The  locklng-up  bell  began  to  toll,  and  the  two  boys  were  silent, 
and  listened  to  it.  The  sound  soon  carried  Tom  off  to  the  river 
and  the  woods,  and  he  began  to  go  over  in  his  mind  the  many 
occasions  on  which  he  had  heard  that  toll  coming  faintly  down 
the  breeze,  and  had  to  pack  up  his  rod  in  a  hurry  and  make  a 
run  for  it  to  get  in  before  the  gates  were  shut.  He  was  roused 
with  a  start  from  his  memories  by  Arthur's  voice,  gentle  and 
weak  from  his  late  illness. 

"Tom,  will  you  be  angry  if  I  talk  to  you  very  seriously  ?" 

"No,  dear  old  boy,  not  I.     But  ain't  you  faint,  Arthur,  or  ill  ? 

[  306  ] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

What  can  1  get  ) ou  ?  Don't  say  anything  to  liuit  yourself  now — 
you  are  very  weak;  let  me  come  up  again." 

"No,  no,  I  sha'n't  hurt  myself;  I'd  sooner  speak  to  you  now,  if 
you  don't  mind.  I've  asked  Mary  to  tell  the  Doctor  that  you  are 
with  me,  so  you  needn't  go  down  to  calling-over;  and  1  mayn't 
have  another  chance,  for  1  shall  most  likely  have  to  go  home  for 
change  of  air  to  get  well,  and  mayn't  come  hack  this  half." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  you  must  go  away  before  the  end  of  the  half.'' 
I'm  so  sorry.  It's  more  than  five  weeks  yet  to  the  holidays,  and 
all  the  fifth-form  examination  and  half  the  cricket-matches  to 
come  yet.  And  what  shall  I  do  all  that  time  alone  in  our  study  ^ 
Why,  Arthur,  it  will  be  more  than  tv/elve  weeks  before  I  see  you 
again.  Oh,  hang  it,  I  can't  stand  that!  Besides,  who's  to  keep 
me  up  to  working  at  the  examination  books  ^  I  shall  come  out 
bottom  of  the  form  as  sure  as  eggs  is  eggs." 

Tom  was  rattling  on,  half  in  joke,  half  in  earnest,  for  he  wanted 
to  get  Arthur  out  of  his  serious  vein,  thinking  it  would  do  him 
harm;  but  Arthur  broke  in — 

"Oh,  please,  Tom,  stop,  or  you'll  drive  all  I  had  to  say  out  of 
my  head.  And  I'm  already  horribly  afraid  I'm  going  to  make 
you  angry." 

"Don't  gammon,  young  un,"  rejoined  Tom  (the  use  of  the 
old  name,  dear  to  him  from  old  recollections,  made  Arthur  start 
and  smile  and  feel  quite  happy);  "you  know  you  ain't  afraid,  and 
you've  never  made  me  angry  since  the  first  month  we  chummed 
together.  Now  I'm  going  to  be  (juite  sober  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  which  is  more  than  1  am  once  in  a  year;  so  make  the  most 
of  it;  heave  ahead,  and  pitch  into  me  right  and  left." 

"Dear  Tom,  I  ain't  going  to  pitch  into  you,"  said  Arthur,  pite- 
ously;  "and  it  seems  so  cocky  in  me  to  be  advising  you,  who've 
been  my  backbone  ever  since  I've  been  at  Rugby,  and  have  made 
the  school  a  paradise  to  me.  Ah,  I  see  I  shall  never  do  it  unless 
I  go  head-over-heels  at  once,  as  you  said  when  you  taught  me  to 
swim.    Tom,  I  want  you  to  give  up  using  vulgus-books  and  cribs." 

[307] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Arthur  sank  back  onto  his  pillow  with  a  sigh,  as  if  the  effort 
had  been  great;  but  the  worst  was  now  over,  and  he  looked  straight 
at  Tom,  who  was  evidently  taken  aback.  He  leaned  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  and  stuck  his  hands  into  his  hair,  whistled  a  verse 
of  Billy  Taylor^  and  then  was  quite  silent  for  another  minute. 
Not  a  shade  crossed  his  face,  but  he  was  clearly  puzzled.  At  last 
he  looked  up  and  caught  Arthur's  anxious  look,  took  his  hand, 
and  said  simply: 

"Why,  young  un  .?" 

"Because  you're  the  honestest  boy  in  Rugby,  and  that  ain't 
honest." 

"I  don't  see  that." 

"What  were  you  sent  to  Rugby  for .?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  exactly — nobody  ever  told  me.  I  suppose 
because  all  boys  are  sent  to  a  public  school  in  England." 

"But  what  do  you  think  yourself?  What  do  you  want  to  do 
here,  and  to  carry  away  ?" 

Tom  thought  a  minute.  "I  want  to  be  Ai  at  cricket  and  foot- 
ball, and  all  the  other  games,  and  to  make  my  hands  keep  my 
head  against  any  fellow,  lout  or  gentleman.  I  want  to  get  into 
the  sixth  before  I  leave,  and  to  please  the  Doctor;  and  I  want  to 
carry  away  just  as  much  Latin  and  Greek  as  will  take  me  through 
Oxford  respectably.  There,  now,  young  un,  I  never  thought  of 
it  before,  but  that's  pretty  much  about  my  figure.  Ain't  it  all  on 
the  square  ?     What  have  you  got  to  say  to  that  ?" 

"Why,  that  you  are  pretty  sure  to  do  all  that  you  want,  then." 

"Well,  1  hope  so.  But  you've  forgot  one  thing — what  I  want  to 
leave  behind  me.  I  want  to  leave  behind  me,"  said  Tom,  speak- 
ing slow  and  looking  much  moved,  "the  name  of  a  fellow  who 
never  bullied  a  little  boy  or  turned  his  back  on  a  big  one." 

Arthur  pressed  his  hand,  and  after  a  moment's  silence  went  on : 
"You  say,  Tom,  you  want  to  please  the  Doctor.  Now,  do  you 
want  to  please  him  by  what  he  thinks  you  do,  or  by  what  you 
really  do  ?" 

[308] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"  By  what  I  really  do,  of  course." 

"Does  he  think  you  use  cribs  and  vulgus-books  ?" 

Tom  felt  at  once  that  his  flank  was  turned,  hut  he  couldn't  give 
in.  "He  was  at  Winchester  himself,"  said  he;  "he  knows  all 
about  it." 

"Yes,  but  does  he  think  yoii  use  them  .^  Do  vou  think  he  ap- 
proves of  it  ?" 

"You  young  villain!"  said  Tom,  shaking  his  fist  at  Arthur,  half 
vexed  and  half  pleased,  "  I  never  think  about  it.  Hang  it — there, 
perhaps  he  don't.     Well,  I  suppose  he  don't." 

Arthur  saw  that  he  had  got  his  point;  he  knew  his  friend  well, 
and  was  wise  in  silence,  as  in  speech.  He  only  said,  "1  would 
sooner  have  the  Doctor's  good  opinion  of  me  as  I  really  am  than 
any  man's  in  the  world." 

After  another  minute  Tom  began  again:  "Look  here,  young 
un,  how  on  earth  am  I  to  get  time  to  play  the  matches  this  half 
if  I  give  up  cribs  ^.  We're  in  the  middle  of  that  long,  crabbed 
chorus  in  the  Agamemtjoti;  I  can  only  just  make  head  or  tail 
of  it  with  the  crib.  Then  there's  Pericles'  speech  coming  on  in 
Thucydides,  and  The  Birds  to  get  up  for  the  examination,  be- 
sides the  Tacitus."  Tom  groaned  at  the  thought  of  his  accumu- 
lated labors.  "I  say,  young  un,  there's  only  five  weeks  or  so 
left  to  holidays;  mayn't  I  go  on  as  usual  for  this  half?  I'll  tell 
the  Doctor  about  it  some  day,  or  you  may." 

Arthur  looked  out  of  the  window;  the  twilight  had  come  on  and 
all  was  silent.  He  repeated,  in  a  low  voice,  "  In  this  thing  the  Lord 
pardon  thy  servant,  that  when  my  master  goeth  into  the  house  of 
Rimmon  to  worship  there,  and  he  leaneth  on  my  hand,  and  I  bow 
myself  in  the  house  of  Rimmon:  when  I  bow  down  myself  in  the 
house  of  Rimmon,  the  Lord  pardon  thy  servant  in  this  thing." 

Not  a  word  more  was  said  on  the  subject,  and  the  boys  were 
again  silent — one  of  those  blessed,  short  silences  in  which  the 
resolves  which  color  a  life  are  so  often  taken. 

Tom  was  the  first  to  break  it.     "You've  been  very  ill  indeed, 

[309] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

haven't  you,  Geordie  ?"  said  he,  with  a  mixture  of  awe  and  curi- 
osity, feeling  as  if  his  friend  had  been  in  some  strange  place  or 
scene,  of  which  he  could  form  no  idea,  and  full  of  the  memory  of 
his  own  thoughts  during  the  last  week. 

"Yes,  very.  I'm  sure  the  Doctor  thought  I  was  going  to  die. 
He  gave  me  the  sacrament  last  Sunday,  and  you  can't  think  what 
he  is  when  one  is  ill.  He  said  such  brave  and  tender  and  gentle 
things  to  me;  I  felt  quite  light  and  strong  after  it,  and  never  had 
any  more  fear.  My  mother  brought  our  old  medical  man,  who 
attended  me  when  I  was  a  poor,  sickly  child;  he  said  my  con- 
stitution was  quite  changed,  and  that  I'm  fit  for  anything  now. 
If  it  hadn't,  I  couldn't  have  stood  three  days  of  this  illness.  That's 
all  thanks  to  you,  and  the  games  you've  made  me  fond  of." 

"More  thanks  to  old  Martin,"  said  Tom;  "he's  been  your  real 
friend." 

"Nonsense,  Tom;  he  never  could  have  done  for  me  what  you 
have." 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  I  did  little  enough.  Did  they  tell  you — 
you  won't  mind  hearing  it  now,  I  know, — that  poor  Thompson 
died  last  week  ?  The  other  three  boys  are  getting  quite  round, 
like  you." 

"Oh  yes,  I  heard  of  it." 

Then  Tom,  who  was  quite  full  of  it,  told  Arthur  of  the  burial- 
service  in  the  chapel,  and  how  it  had  impressed  him  and,  he  be- 
lieved, all  the  other  boys.  "And  though  the  Doctor  never  said  a 
word  about  it,"  said  he,  "  and  it  was  a  half-holiday  and  match-day, 
there  wasn't  a  game  played  in  the  close  all  the  afternoon,  and  the 
boys  all  went  about  as  if  it  were  Sunday." 

"I'm  very  glad  of  it,"  said  Arthur.  "But,  Tom,  I've  had  such 
strange  thoughts  about  death  lately.  I've  never  told  3  soul  of 
them,  not  even  my  mother.  Sometimes  I  think  they're  wrong;  but, 
do  you  know,  I  don't  think  in  my  heart  I  could  be  sorry  at  the 
death  of  any  of  my  friends." 

Tom  was  taken  quite  aback.     "What  in  the  world  is  the  young 

[310] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

un  after  now?"  tliought  he;  "I've  swallowed  a  good  many  of  his 
crotchets,  but  this  ahogether  beats  me.  He  can't  be  cjiiite  right 
in  his  head."  He  didn't  want  to  say  a  word,  and  shifted  about 
uneasily  in  the  dark;  however,  Arthur  seemed  to  be  waiting  for 
an  answer,  so  at  last  he  said:  "I  don't  think  1  (juite  see  what 
you  mean,  Geordie.  One's  told  so  often  to  think  about  death 
that  I've  tried  it  on  sometimes,  especially  this  last  week.  But 
we  won't  talk  of  it  now.  I'd  better  go — you're  getting  tired,  and 
I  shall  do  you  harm." 

"No,  no,  indeed  I  ain't,  Tom;  you  must  stop  till  nine — there's 
only  twenty  minutes.  I've  settled  you  shall  stop  till  nine.  And, 
oh,  do  let  me  talk  to  you — I  must  talk  to  you!  I  see  it's  just  as 
I  feared.     You  think  I'm  half  mad — don't  you,  now  ?" 

"Well,  I  did  think  it  odd  what  you  said,  Geordie,  as  you  ask 


me." 


Arthur  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said,  quickly:  "I'll  tell 
you  how  it  all  happened.  At  first,  when  I  was  sent  to  the  sick- 
room, and  found  I  had  really  got  the  fever,  I  was  terribly  fright- 
ened. I  thought  I  should  die,  and  I  could  not  face  it  for  a 
moment.  1  don't  think  it  was  sheer  cowardice  at  first,  but  I 
thought  how  hard  it  was  to  be  taken  away  from  my  mother  and 
sisters,  and  you  all,  just  as  I  was  beginning  to  see  my  way  to 
many  things,  and  to  feel  that  I  might  be  a  man  and  do  a  man's 
work.  To  die  without  having  fought  and  worked  and  given 
one's  life  away  was  too  hard  to  bear.  I  got  terribly  impatient, 
and  accused  God  of  injustice,  and  strove  to  justify  myself;  and 
the  harder  I  strove  the  deeper  1  sank.  Then  the  image  of  my 
dear  father  often  came  across  me,  but  I  turned  from  it.  When- 
ever it  came,  a  heavy,  numbing  throb  seemed  to  take  hold  ot  my 
heart  and  say,  'Dead — dead — dead!'  And  I  cried  out:  'The 
living,  the  living  shall  praise  Thee,  O  God;  the  dead  cannot 
praise  Thee.  There  is  no  work  in  the  grave;  in  the  night  no 
man  can  work.  But  I  can  work.  I  can  do  great  things.  I  will 
do  great  things.     Why  wilt  Thou  slay  me  ?'     And  so  I  struggled 

[311] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

and  plunged,  deeper  and  deeper,  and  went  down  into  a  living, 
black  tomb.  1  was  alone  there,  with  no  power  to  stir  or  think; 
alone  with  myself;  beyond  the  reach  of  all  human  fellowship; 
beyond  Christ's  reach,  I  thought,  in  my  nightmare.  You,  who 
are  brave  and  strong,  can  have  no  idea  of  that  agony.  Pray  to 
God  you  never  may.     Pray  as  for  your  life." 

Arthur  stopped — from  exhaustion,  Tom  thought;  but  what 
between  his  fear  lest  Arthur  should  hurt  himself,  his  awe,  and 
longing  for  him  to  go  on,  he  couldn't  ask,  or  stir  to  help  him. 

Presently  he  went  on,  but  quite  calm  and  slow:  "1  don't 
know  how  long  I  was  in  that  state.  For  more  than  a  day,  I 
know;  for  I  was  quite  conscious  and  lived  my  outer  life  all  the 
time,  and  took  my  medicine  and  spoke  to  my  mother,  and  heard 
what  they  said.  But  I  didn't  take  much  note  of  time;  1  thought 
time  was  over  for  me,  and  that  that  tomb  was  what  was  beyond. 
Well,  on  last  Sunday  morning,  as  1  seemed  to  lie  in  that  tomb, 
alone  as  I  thought,  for  ever  and  ever,  the  black,  dead  wall  was 
cleft  in  two,  and  1  was  caught  up  and  borne  through  into  the 
light  by  some  great  power,  some  living,  mighty  spirit.  Tom,  do 
you  remember  the  living  creatures  and  the  wheels  in  Ezekiel .? 
It  was  just  like  that:  'when  they  went  I  heard  the  noise  of  their 
wings,  like  the  noise  of  great  waters,  as  the  voice  of  the  Almighty, 
the  voice  of  speech,  as  the  noise  of  an  host;  when  they  stood  they 
let  down  their  wings' — 'and  they  went  every  one  straight  for- 
ward; whither  the  spirit  was  to  go  they  went,  and  they  turned 
not  when  they  went.'  And  we  rushed  through  the  bright  air, 
which  was  full  of  myriads  of  living  creatures,  and  paused  on  the 
brink  of  a  great  river.  And  the  power  held  me  up,  and  I  knew 
that  that  great  river  was  the  grave,  and  death  dwelt  there;  but 
not  the  death  I  had  met  in  the  black  tomb — that  1  felt  was  gone 
forever.  For  on  the  other  bank  of  the  great  river  I  saw  men  and 
women  and  children  rising  up  pure  and  bright,  and  the  tears 
were  wiped  from  their  eyes,  and  they  put  on  glory  and  strength, 
and  all  weariness  and  pain  fell  away.     And  beyond  were  a  multi- 

[312] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

tudc  whicli  no  man  could  n amber,  and  they  worked  at  some  great 
work;  and  they  who  rose  from  the  river  went  on  and  joined  in 
the  work.  They  all  worked,  and  each  worked  in  a  different 
way,  but  all  at  the  same  work.  And  1  saw  there  my  father,  and 
the  men  in  the  old  town  whom  I  knew  when  I  was  a  child;  many 
a  hard,  stern  man  who  never  came  to  church,  and  whom  they 
called  atheist  and  infidel.  There  they  were,  side  by  side  with  my 
father,  whom  I  h'kd  seen  toil  and  die  for  them,  and  women  and 
little  children,  and  the  seal  was  on  the  foreheads  of  all.  And  I 
longed  to  see  what  the  work  was,  and  could  not;  so  I  tried  to 
plunge  in  the  river,  for  I  thought  I  would  join  them,  but  I  could 
not.  Then  I  looked  about  to  see  how  they  got  into  the  river. 
And  this  I  could  not  see,  but  I  saw  myriads  on  this  side,  and  they 
too  worked,  and  I  knew  that  it  was  the  same  work;  and  the  same 
seal  was  on  their  foreheads.  And  though  I  saw  that  there  was 
toil  and  anguish  in  the  work  of  these,  and  that  most  that  were 
working  were  blind  and  feeble,  yet  I  longed  no  more  to  plunge 
into  the  river,  but  more  and  more  to  know  what  the  work  was. 
And  as  I  looked  I  saw  my  mother  and  my  sisters,  and  I  saw  the 
Doctor,  and  you,  Tom,  and  hundreds  more  whom  I  knew;  and 
at  last  I  saw  myself,  too,  and  I  was  toiling  and  doing  ever  so  little 
a  piece  of  the  great  work.  Then  it  all  melted  away,  and  the 
power  left  me,  and  as  it  left  me  I  thought  I  heard  a  voice  say, 
*The  vision  is  for  an  appointed  time;  though  it  tarry,  wait  for  it, 
for  in  the  end  it  shall  speak  and  not  lie,  it  shall  surely  come,  it 
shall  not  tarry.'  It  was  early  morning,  I  know,  then,  it  was  so 
quiet  and  cool,  and  my  mother  was  fast  asleep  in  the  chair  by 
my  bedside;  but  it  wasn't  only  a  dream  of  mine.  I  know  it 
wasn't  a  dream.  Then  I  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  only  woke 
after  afternoon  chapel;  and  the  Doctor  came  and  gave  me  the 
sacrament,  as  I  told  you.  I  told  him  and  my  mother  I  should  get 
well — 1  knew  I  should;  but  I  couldn't  tell  them  why.  Tom," 
said  Arthur,  gently,  after  another  minute,  "do  you  see  why  I 
could  not  grieve  now  to  see  my  dearest  friend  die  .?     It  can't  be — 


TOM    BROWN'S 

it  isn't — all  fever  or  illness.  God  would  never  have  let  me  see  it 
so  clear  if  it  vv'asn't  true.  I  don't  understand  it  all  yet — it  v^ill 
take  me  all  my  life  and  longer  to  do  that — to  find  out  what  the 
work  is." 

When  Arthur  stopped  there  was  a  long  pause.  Tom  could  not 
speak,  he  was  almost  afraid  to  breathe,  lest  he  should  break  the 
train  of  Arthur's  thoughts.  He  longed  to  hear  more,  and  to  ask 
questions.  In  another  minute  nine  o'clock  struck,  and  a  gentle 
tap  at  the  door  called  them  both  back  into  the  world  again. 
They  did  not  answer,  however,  for  a  moment,  and  so  the  door 
opened  and  a  lady  came  in  carrying  a  candle. 

She  went  straight  to  the  sofa  and  took  hold  of  Arthur's  hand, 
and  then  stooped  down  and  kissed  him. 

"My  dearest  boy,  you  feel  a  little  feverish  again.  Why  didn't 
you  have  lights  ?  You've  talked  too  much  and  excited  yourself 
in  the  dark." 

"Oh  no,  mother;  you  can't  think  how  well  I  feel;  I  shall  start 
with  you  to-morrow  for  Devonshire.  But,  mother,  here's  my 
friend — here's  Tom  Brown — you  know  him  .?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  I've  known  him  for  years,"  she  said,  and  held 
out  her  hand  to  Tom,  who  was  now  standing  up  behind  the  sofa. 
This  was  Arthur's  mother.  Tall  and  slight  and  fair,  with  masses 
of  golden  hair  drawn  back  from  the  broad,  white  forehead,  and 
the  calm,  blue  eye  meeting  his  so  deep  and  open — the  eye  that 
he  knew  so  well,  for  it  was  his  friend's  over  again  —  and  the 
lovely,  tender  mouth  that  trembled  while  he  looked.  She  stood 
there  a  woman  of  thirty-eight,  old  enough  to  be  his  mother,  and 
one  whose  face  showed  the  lines  which  must  be  written  on  the 
faces  of  good  men's  wives  and  widows — but  he  thought  he  had 
never  seen  anything  so  beautiful.  He  couldn't  help  wondering 
if  Arthur's  sisters  were  like  her. 

Tom  held  her  hand  and  looked  on  straight  in  her  face;  he 
could  neither  let  it  go  nor  speak. 

"Now,  Tom,"  said  Arthur,  laughing,  "where  are  your  man- 

[314] 


SHE  HELD  OUT  HER   HAND  TO  TOM 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

ners  ?  You'll  stare  my  mother  out  of  countenance."  Tom 
dropped  the  little  hand  with  a  sigh.  "There,  sit  down,  both  of 
you.  Here,  dearest  mother,  there's  room  here."  And  he  made 
a  place  on  the  sofa  for  her.  "Tom,  you  needn't  go;  I'm  sure 
you  won't  be  called  up  at  first  lesson."  Tom  felt  that  he  would 
risk  being  floored  at  every  lesson  for  the  rest  of  his  natural  school- 
life  sooner  than  go;  so  sat  down.  "And  now,"  said  Arthur,  "I 
have  realized  one  of  the  dearest  wishes  of  my  life — to  see  you 
two  together." 

And  then  he  led  awav  the  talk  to  their  home  in  Devonshire, 
and  the  red,  bright  earth,  and  the  deep-green  combes,  and  the 
peat  streams  like  cairngorm  pebbles,  and  the  wild  moor  with  its 
high,  cloudy  tors  for  a  giant  background  to  the  picture — till 
Tom  got  jealous,  and  stood  up  for  the  clear  chalk  streams  and 
the  emerald  water-meadows  and  great  elms  and  willows  of  the 
dear  old  Roval  countv,  as  he  gloried  to  call  it.  And  the  mother 
sat  on  quiet  and  loving,  rejoicing  in  their  life.  The  quarter  to 
ten  struck,  and  the  bell  rang  for  bed  before  they  had  well  begun 
their  talk,  as  it  seemed. 

Then  Tom  rose  with  a  sigh  to  go. 

"Shall  I  see  you  in  the  morning,  Geordie  ?"  said  he,  as  he 
shook  his  friend's  hand.  "Never  mind,  though;  you'll  be  back 
next  half,  and  I  sha'n't  forget  the  house  of  Rimmon." 

Arthur's  mother  got  up  and  walked  with  him  to  the  door,  and 
there  gave  him  her  hand  again,  and  again  his  eyes  met  that 
deep,  loving  look  which  was  like  a  spell  upon  him.  Her  voice 
trembled  slightly  as  she  said,  "Good-night — you  are  one  who 
knows  what  our  Father  has  promised  to  the  friend  of  the  widow 
and  the  fatherless.  May  He  deal  with  you  as  vou  have  dealt 
with  me  and  mine." 

Tom  was  quite  upset;  he  mumbled  something  about  owing 
everything  good  in  him  to  Geordie,  looked  in  her  face  again, 
pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  rushed  downstairs  to  his  study, 
where  he  sat  till  old  Thomas  came  kicking  at  the  door,  to  tell  him 

[317] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

his  allowance  would  be  stopped  if  he  didn't  go  off  to  bed.  (It 
would  have  been  stopped,  anyhow,  but  that  he  was  a  great  fa- 
vorite with  the  old  gentleman,  who  loved  to  come  out  in  the  after- 
noons into  the  close  to  Tom's  wicket  and  bowl  slow  twisters  to 
him  and  talk  of  the  glories  of  by-gone  Surrey  heroes  with  whom 
he  had  played  in  former  generations.)  So  Tom  roused  himself, 
and  took  up  his  candle  to  go  to  bed;  and  then  for  the  first  time 
was  aware  of  a  beautiful  new  fishing-rod,  with  old  Eton's  mark 
on  it,  and  a  splendidly  bound  Bible,  which  lay  on  his  table,  on 
the  title-page  of  which  was  written,  "Tom  Brown,  from  his 
affectionate  and  grateful  friends,  Frances  Jane  Arthur,  George 
Arthur." 

1  leave  you  all  to  guess  how  he  slept,  and  what  he  dreamed  of. 


SCHOOL    DAYS 


I 


■^;-^^->f 


HARRY    EAST  S    DILEMMAS    AND   DELIVERANCES 

"The  Holy  Supper  Is  kept  indeed, 
In  whatso  we  share  with  another's  need — 
Not  that  which  we  give,  but  what  we  share, 
For  the  gift  without  the  giver  is  bare: 
Who  bestows  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three — 
Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  Me." 

— Lowell,  The  Fision  of  Sir  Launfal. 

HE  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Tom,  East, 
and  Gower  met  as  usual  to  learn  their  second 
lesson  together.  Tom  had  been  considering 
how  to  break  his  proposal  of  giving  up  the  crib 
to  the  others,  and  having  found  no  better  way 
(as  indeed  none  better  can  ever  be  found  by 
man  or  boy),  told  them  simply  what  had  hap- 
pened; how  he  had  been  to  see  Arthur,  who  had  talked  to  him 
upon  the  subject,  and  what  he  had  said,  and  for  his  part  he  had 
made  up  his  mind,  and  wasn't  going  to  use  cribs  any  more;  and, 

[319] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

not  being  quite  sure  of  his  ground,  took  the  high  and  pathetic 
tone,  and  was  proceeding  to  say,  "how  that,  having  learned  his 
lessons  with  them  for  so  many  years,  it  would  grieve  him  much 
to  put  an  end  to  the  arrangement;  and  he  hoped,  at  any  rate,  that, 
if  they  wouldn't  go  on  v^ith  him,  they  should  still  be  just  as  good 
friends  and  respect  one  another's  motives — but — " 

Here  the  other  boys,  who  had  been  listening  w^ith  open  eyes 
and  ears,  burst  in: 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  cried  Gower.  "Here,  East,  get  down 
the  crib  and  find  the  place." 

"Oh,  Tommy,  Tommy!"  said  East,  proceeding  to  do  as  he  was 
bidden,  "that  it  should  ever  have  come  to  this.  I  knew  Arthur'd 
be  the  ruin  of  you  some  day,  and  you  of  me.  And  now  the  time's 
come."     And  he  made  a  doleful  face. 

"I  don't  know  about  ruin,"  answered  Tom;  "I  know  that  you 
and  I  would  have  had  the  sack  long  ago  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him. 
And  you  know  it  as  well  as  I." 

"Well, we  were  in  a  baddish  way  before  he  came,  I  own;  but 
this  new  crotchet  of  his  is  past  a  joke." 

"Let's  give  it  a  trial,  Harry;  come — you  know  how  often  he 
has  been  right  and  we  wrong." 

"Now,  don't  you  two  be  jawing  away  about  young  Square- 
toes,"  struck  in  Gower.  "He's  no  end  of  a  sucking  wiseacre,  I 
dare  say,  but  we've  no  time  to  lose,  and  I've  got  the  fives'-court 
at  half-past  nine." 

"I  say,  Gower,"  said  Tom,  appealingly,  "be  a  good  fellow, 
and  let's  try  if  we  can't  get  on  without  the  crib." 

"What!  in  this  chorus.?  Why,  we  sha'n't  get  through  ten 
lines." 

"I  say,  Tom,"  cried  East,  having  hit  on  a  new  idea,  "don't 
you  remember,  when  we  were  in  the  upper  fourth,  and  old 
Momus  caught  me  construing  off  the  leaf  of  a  crib  which  I'd 
torn  out  and  put  in  my  book,  and  which  would  float  out  onto 
the  floor,  he  sent  me  up  to  be  flogged  for  it  r' 

[320] 


SCHOOL  DAYS 

"Yes,  I  remember  it  very  well." 

"Well,  the  Doctor,  after  he'd  flogged  me,  told  me  himself  that 
he  didn't  flog  me  for  using  a  translation,  but  for  taking  it  into 
lesson,  and  using  it  there  when  I  hadn't  learned  a  word  before  I 
came  in.  He  said  there  was  no  harm  in  using  a  translation  to 
get  a  clew  to  hard  passages  if  you  tried  all  you  could  first  to  make 
them  out  without." 

"Did  he,  though  .?"  said  Tom;    "then  Arthur  must  be  wrong." 

"Of  course  he  is,"  said  Gower,  "the  little  prig.  We'll  only 
use  the  crib  when  we  can't  construe  without  it.     Go  ahead.  East." 

And  on  this  agreement  they  started;  Tom  satisfied  with  having 
made  his  confession,  and  not  sorry  to  have  a  locus  pasnitentKv, 
and  not  to  be  deprived  altogether  of  the  use  of  his  old  and  faithful 
friend. 

The  boys  went  on  as  usual,  each  taking  a  sentence  in  turn,  and 
the  crib  being  handed  to  the  one  whose  turn  it  was  to  construe. 
Of  course,  Tom  couldn't  object  to  this,  as,  was  it  not  simply  lying 
there  to  be  appealed  to  in  case  the  sentence  should  prove  too 
hard  altogether  for  the  construer  .?  But  it  must  be  owned  that 
Gower  and  East  did  not  make  very  tremendous  exertions  to  con- 
quer their  sentences  before  having  recourse  to  its  help.  Tom, 
however,  with  the  most  heroic  virtue  and  gallantry,  rushed  into 
his  sentence,  searching  in  a  high-minded  manner  for  nominative 
and  verb,  and  turning  over  his  dictionary  frantically  for  the  first 
hard  word  that  stopped  him.  But  in  the  mean  time  Gower,  who 
was  bent  on  getting  to  fives,  would  peep  quietly  into  the  crib,  and 
then  suggest,  "Don't  you  think  this  is  the  meaning.?"  "T  think 
you  must  take  it  this  way.  Brown";  and  as  Tom  didn't  see  his 
way  to  not  profiting  by  these  suggestions,  the  lesson  went  on 
about  as  quickly  as  usual,  and  Gower  was  able  to  start  for  the 
fives'-court  within  five  minutes  of  the  half-hour. 

When  Tom  and  East  were  left  face  to  face,  thev  looked  at  each 
other  for  a  minute,  Tom  puzzled,  and  East  chock-full  of  fun, 
and  then  burst  into  a  roar  of  lauiihter. 

[321] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Well,  Tom,"  said  East,  recovering  himself,  "I  don't  see  any 
objection  to  the  new  way.  It's  about  as  good  as  the  old  one,  I 
think,  besides  the  advantage  it  gives  one  of  feeling  virtuous  and 
looking  down  on  one's  neighbors." 

Tom  shoved  his  hand  into  his  back  hair.  "  I  ain't  so  sure," 
said  he;  "you  two  fellows  carried  me  off  my  legs;  I  don't  think 
we  really  tried  one  sentence  fairly.  Are  you  sure  you  remember 
what  the  Doctor  said  to  you  ?" 

"Yes.  And  I'll  swear  I  couldn't  make  out  one  of  my  sentences 
to-day.  No,  nor  ever  could.  I  really  don't  remember,"  said 
East,  speaking  slowly  and  impressively,  "to  have  come  across 
one  Latin  or  Greek  sentence  this  half  that  I  could  go  and  con- 
strue by  the  light  of  nature.  Whereby  I  am  sure  Providence  in- 
tended cribs  to  be  used." 

"The  thing  to  find  out,"  said  Tom,  meditatively,  "is  how  long 
one  ought  to  grind  at  a  sentence  without  looking  at  the  crib. 
Now,  I  think  if  one  fairly  looks  out  all  the  words  one  don't  know, 
and  then  can't  hit  it,  that's  enough." 

"To  be  sure,  Tommy,"  said  East,  demurely,  but  with  a  merry 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  "Your  new  doctrine,  too,  old  fellow,"  added 
he,  "when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  is  a  cutting  at  the  root  of  all 
school  morality.  You'll  take  away  mutual  help,  brotherly  love, 
or,  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  giving  construes,  which  I  hold  to  be  one 
of  our  highest  virtues.  For  how  can  you  distinguish  between 
getting  a  construe  from  another  boy  and  using  a  crib  .?  Hang  it, 
Tom,  if  you're  going  to  deprive  all  our  school-fellows  of  the  chance 
of  exercising  Christian  benevolence  and  being  good  Samaritans, 
I  shall  cut  the  concern." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  joke  about  it,  Harry;  it's  hard  enough 
to  see  one's  way,  a  precious  sight  harder  than  I  thought  last  night. 
But  I  suppose  there's  a  use  and  an  abuse  of  both,  and  one  '11  get 
straight  enough  somehow.  But  you  can't  make  out,  anyhow,  that 
one  has  a  right  to  use  old  vulgus-books  and  copy-books." 

"Hullo,  more  heresy!    how  fast  a  fellow  goes  down-hill  when 

[322] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

he  once  gets  his  head  before  his  legs.  Listen  to  me,  Tom.  Not 
use  old  VLilgiis-books  ?  Why,  you  Goth!  ain't  we  to  take  the 
benefit  of  tlie  wisdom,  and  admire  and  use  the  work  of  past 
generations?  Not  use  old  copy-books!  Why,  you  might  as  well 
say  we  ought  to  pull  down  Westminster  Abbey  and  put  uj)  a 
go-to-meeting-shop  with  church-warden  windows;  or  never  read 
Shakespeare,  but  only  Sheridan  Knowles.  Think  of  all  the  work 
and  labor  that  our  predecessors  have  bestowed  on  these  very 
books;    and  are  we  to  make  their  work  of  no  value  ?" 

"  1  say,  Harry,  please  don't  chaff;    I'm  really  serious." 

"And  then,  is  it  not  our  duty  to  consult  the  pleasure  of  others 
rather  than  our  own,  and,  above  all,  that  of  our  masters  ?  Fancy, 
then,  the  difference  to  them  in  looking  over  a  vulgus  which  has 
been  carefully  touched  and  retouched  by  themselves  and  others, 
and  which  must  bring  them  a  sort  of  dreamy  pleasure,  as  if  they'd 
met  the  thought  or  expression  of  it  somewhere  or  other — before 
they  were  born,  perhaps ;  and  that  of  cutting  up  and  making 
picture-frames  round  all  your  and  my  false  quantities  and  other 
monstrosities.  Why,  Tom,  you  wouldn't  be  so  cruel  as  never  to 
let  old  Momus  hum  over  the  *0  genus  humanum'  again,  and  then 
look  up  doubtingly  through  his  spectacles,  and  end  by  smiling 
and  giving  three  extra  marks  for  it — just  for  old  sake's  sake,  I 
suppose." 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  getting  up  in  something  as  like  a  huff  as 
he  was  capable  of,  "it's  deuced  hard  that  when  a  fellow's  really 
trying  to  do  what  he  ought,  his  best  friends  '11  do  nothing  but 
chaff  him  and  try  to  put  him  down."  And  he  stuck  his  books 
under  his  arm  and  his  hat  on  his  head,  preparatory  to  rushing 
out  into  the  quadrangle,  to  testify  with  his  own  soul  of  the  faith- 
lessness of  friendships. 

"Now,  don't  be  an  ass,  Tom,"  said  East,  catching  hold  of  him; 
"you  know  me  well  enough  by  this  time;  my  bark's  worse  than 
my  bite.  You  can't  expect  to  ride  your  new  crotchet  without 
anybody's  trying  to  stick  a  nettle  under  his  tail  and  make  him 

[323] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

kick  you  off;  especially  as  we  shall  have  to  go  on  foot  still.  But 
now  sit  down  and  let's  go  over  it  again.  I'll  be  as  serious  as  a 
judge. 

Then  Tom  sat  himself  down  on  the  table  and  waxed  eloquent 
about  all  the  righteousnesses  and  advantages  of  the  new  plan, 
as  was  his  wont  whenever  he  took  up  anything;  going  into  it  as 
if  his  life  depended  upon  it,  and  sparing  no  abuse  which  he  could 
think  of  of  the  opposite  method,  which  he  denounced  as  ungen- 
tlemanly,  cowardly,  mean,  lying,  and  no  one  knows  what  besides. 
"Very  cool  of  Tom,"  as  East  thought,  but  didn't  say,  "seeing 
as  how  he  only  came  out  of  Egypt  himself  last  night  at  bed- 


time." 


"Well,  Tom,"  said  he  at  last,  "you  see,  when  you  and  I  came 
to  school  there  were  none  of  these  sort  of  notions.  You  may  be 
right — I  dare  say  you  are.  Only  what  one  has  always  felt  about 
the  masters  is,  that  it's  a  fair  trial  of  skill  and  last  between  us 
and  them — like  a  match  at  football,  or  a  battle.  We're  natural 
enemies  in  school,  that's  the  fact.  We've  got  to  learn  so  much 
Latin  and  Greek  and  do  so  many  verses,  and  they've  got  to  see 
that  we  do  it.  If  we  can  slip  the  collar  and  do  so  much  less  with- 
out getting  caught,  that's  one  to  us.  If  they  can  get  more  out  of 
us,  or  catch  us  shirking,  that's  one  to  them.  All's  fair  in  war 
but  lying.  If  I  run  my  luck  against  theirs,  and  go  into  school 
without  looking  at  my  lessons,  and  don't  get  called  up,  why  am 
I  a  snob  or  a  sneak  ^  I  don't  tell  the  master  I've  learned  it. 
He's  got  to  find  out  whether  I  have  or  not — what's  he  paid  for  ? 
If  he  calls  me  up,  and  I  get  floored,  he  makes  me  write  it  out 
in  Greek  and  English.  Very  good,  he's  caught  me,  and  I  don't 
grumble.  I  grant  you,  if  I  go  and  snivel  to  him,  and  tell  him 
I've  really  tried  to  learn  it  but  found  it  so  hard  without  a  trans- 
lation, or  say  I've  had  a  toothache,  or  any  humbug  of  that  kind, 
I'm  a  snob.  That's  my  school  morality;  it's  served  me — and 
you  too,  Tom,  for  the  matter  of  that — these  five  years.  And  it's 
all  clear  and  fair,  no  mistake  about  it.     We  understand  it,  and 

[324] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

tliey  understand  it,  and  I  don't  know  what  we're  to  come  to  with 
any  other." 

Tom  looked  at  him,  pleased  and  a  Httle  puzzled.  He  had 
never  heard  East  speak  his  mind  seriously  before,  and  couldn't 
help  feeling  how  completely  he  had  hit  his  own  theory  and  prac- 
tice up  to  that  time. 

"Thank  you,  old  fellow,"  said  he.  "You're  a  good  old  brick 
to  be  serious,  and  not  put  out  with  me.  I  said  more  than  I 
meant,  I  dare  say,  only,  you  see,  I  know  I'm  right;  whatever  you 
and  Gower  and  the  rest  do,  I  shall  hold  on — I  must.  And  as 
it's  all  new  and  an  up-hill  game,  you  see,  one  must  hit  hard  and 
hold  on  tight  at  first." 

"Very  good,"  said  East;  "hold  on  and  hit  away,  only  don't 
hit  under  the  line." 

"  But  I  must  bring  you  over,  Harry,  or  I  sha'n't  be  comfort- 
able. Now,  I  allow  all  you've  said.  We've  always  been  honor- 
able enemies  with  the  masters.  We  found  a  state  of  war  when 
we  came,  and  went  into  it,  of  course.  Only  don't  you  think  things 
are  altered  a  good  deal  ?  I  don't  feel  as  I  used  to  to  the  mas- 
ters.     They  seem  to  me  to  treat  one  quite  differently." 

"Yes,  perhaps  they  do,"  said  East;  "there's  a  new  set,  you 
see,  mostly,  who  don't  feel  sure  of  themselves  yet.  They  don't 
want  to  fight  till  they  know  the  ground." 

"I  don't  think  it's  only  that,"  said  Tom.  "And  then  the  Doc- 
tor, he  does  treat  one  so  openly,  and  like  a  gentleman,  and  as  if 
one  was  working  with  him." 

"Well,  so  he  does,"  said  East;  "he's  a  splendid  fellow,  and 
when  I  get  into  the  sixth  I  shall  act  accordingly.  Only,  you  know, 
he  has  nothing  to  do  with  our  lessons  now,  except  examining  us. 
I  say,  though,"  looking  at  his  watch,  "it's  just  the  quarter.     Come 


along 


As  they  walked  out  they  got  a  message  to  say  "that  Arthur 
was  just  starting  and  would  like  to  say  good-bye";  so  they  went 
down  to  the  private  entrance  of  the  School-house,  and  found  an 

[3^5] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

open  carriage,  with  Arthur  propped  up  with  pillows  in  it,  looking 
already  better,  Tom  thought. 

They  jumped  up  onto  the  steps  to  shake  hands  with  him,  and 
Tom  mumbled  thanks  for  the  presents  he  had  found  in  his  study, 
and  looked  round  anxiously  for  Arthur's  mother. 

East,  who  had  fallen  back  into  his  usual  humor,  looked  quaintly 
at  Arthur,  and  said: 

"So  you've  been  at  It  again,  through  that  hot-headed  convert 
of  yours  there.  He's  been  making  our  lives  a  burthen  to  us  all 
the  morning  about  using  cribs.  I  shall  get  floored  to  a  certainty 
at  second  lesson  if  I'm  called  up." 

Arthur  blushed  and  looked  down.     Tom  struck  in: 

"Oh,  it's  all  right.  He's  converted  already;  he  always  comes 
through  the  mud  after  us,  grumbling  and  sputtering." 

The  clock  struck,  and  they  had  to  go  off^  to  school,  wishing 
Arthur  a  pleasant  holiday;  Tom  lingering  behind  a  moment  to 
send  his  thanks  and  love  to  Arthur's  mother. 

Tom  renewed  the  discussion  after  second  lesson,  and  succeeded 
so  far  as  to  get  East  to  promise  to  give  the  new  plan  a  fair  trial. 

Encouraged  by  his  success,  in  the  evening,  when  they  were  sit- 
ting alone  in  the  large  study,  where  East  lived  now  almost,  "vice 
Arthur  on  leave,"  after  examining  the  new  fishing-rod,  which  both 
pronounced  to  be  the  genuine  article  ("play  enough  to  throw  a 
midge  tied  on  a  single  hair  against  the  wind,  and  strength  enough 
to  hold  a  grampus"),  they  naturally  began  talking  about  Arthur. 
Tom,  who  was  still  bubbling  over  with  last  night's  scene,  and  all 
the  thoughts  of  the  last  week,  and  wanting  to  clinch  and  fix  the 
whole  in  his  own  mind,  which  he  could  never  do  without  first 
going  through  the  process  of  belaboring  somebody  else  with  it 
all,  suddenly  rushed  into  the  subject  of  Arthur's  illness  and  what 
he  had  said  about  death. 

East  had  given  him  the  desired  opening;  after  a  serio-comic 
grumble  "that  life  wasn't  worth  having  now  they  were  tied  to  a 
young  beggar  who  was  always  'raising  his  standard';  and  that  he, 

[  326  ] 


THEY   JUMPED   UP  TO   SHAKE  HANDS   \MTH   HIM 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

East,  was  like  a  prophet's  donkey,  who  was  obliged  to  struggle  on 
after  the  donkey-man  who  went  after  the  prophet;  that  he  had 
none  of  the  pleasure  of  starting  the  new  crotchets,  and  didn't  half 
understand  them,  but  had  to  take  the  kicks  and  carry  the  luggage 
as  if  he  had  all  the  fun" — he  threw  his  legs  up  onto  the  sofa,  and 
put  his  hands  behind  his  head,  and  said: 

"Well,  after  all,  he's  the  most  wonderful  little  fellow  I  ever 
came  across.  There  ain't  such  a  meek,  humble  boy  in  the  school. 
Hanged  if  1  don't  think  now  really,  Tom,  that  he  believes  himself 
a  much  worse  fellow  than  you  or  I,  and  that  he  don't  think  he  has 
more  influence  in  the  house  than  Dot  Bowles,  who  came  last 
quarter  and  ain't  ten  yet.  But  he  turns  you  and  me  round  his 
little  finger,  old  boy — there's  no  mistake  about  that."  And  East 
nodded  at  Tom  sagaciously. 

"Now  or  never!"  thought  Tom;  so,  shutting  his  eyes  and 
hardening  his  heart,  he  went  straight  at  it,  repeating  all  that 
Arthur  had  said,  as  near  as  he  could  remember  it,  in  the  very 
words,  and  all  he  had  himself  thought.  The  life  seemed  to  ooze 
out  of  it  as  he  went  on,  and  several  times  he  felt  inclined  to  stop, 
give  it  all  up,  and  change  the  subject.  But  somehow  he  was 
borne  on;  he  had  a  necessity  upon  him  to  speak  it  all  out,  and  did 
so.  At  the  end  he  looked  at  East  with  some  anxiety,  and  was 
delighted  to  see  that  that  young  gentleman  was  thoughtful  and 
attentive.  The  fact  is  that,  in  the  stage  of  his  inner  life  at  which 
Tom  had  lately  arrived,  his  intimacy  with  and  friendship  for  East 
could  not  have  lasted  if  he  had  not  made  him  aware  of,  and  a 
sharer  in,  the  thoughts  that  were  beginning  to  exercise  him.  Nor, 
indeed,  could  the  friendship  have  lasted  if  East  had  shown  no 
sympathy  with  these  thoughts;  so  that  it  was  a  great  relief  to  have 
unbosomed  himself,  and  to  have  found  that  his  friend  could  listen. 

Tom  had  always  had  a  sort  of  instinct  that  East's  levity  was 
only  skin-deep;  and  this  instinct  was  a  true  one.  East  had  no 
want  of  reverence  for  anything  he  felt  to  be  real;  but  his  was  one 
of  those  natures  that  burst  into  \vhat  is  generally  called  reckless- 

=3  1 329  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

ness  and  impiety  the  moment  they  feel  that  anything  is  being 
poured  upon  them  for  their  good  which  does  not  come  home  to 
their  inborn  sense  of  right,  or  which  appeals  to  anything  like  self- 
interest  in  them.  Daring  and  honest  by  nature,  and  outspoken 
to  an  extent  which  alarmed  all  respectabilities,  with  a  constant 
fund  of  animal  health  and  spirits  which  he  did  not  feel  bound  to 
curb  in  any  way,  he  had  gained  for  himself  with  the  steady  part 
of  the  school  (including  as  well  those  who  wished  to  appear  steady 
as  those  who  really  were  so)  the  character  of  a  boy  whom  it  would 
be  dangerous  to  be  intimate  with;  while  his  own  hatred  of  every- 
thing cruel  or  underhand  or  false,  and  his  hearty  respect  for  what 
he  could  see  to  be  good  and  true,  kept  off  the  rest. 

Tom,  besides  being  very  like  East  in  many  points  of  character, 
had  largely  developed  in  his  composition  the  capacity  for  taking 
the  weakest  side.  This  is  not  putting  it  strongly  enough:  it  was  a 
necessity  with  him;  he  couldn't  help  it  any  more  than  he  could 
eating  or  drinking.  He  could  never  play  on  the  strongest  side 
with  any  heart  at  football  or  cricket,  and  was  sure  to  make  friends 
with  any  boy  who  was  unpopular  or  down  on  his  luck. 

Now,  though  East  was  not  what  is  generally  called  unpopular, 
Tom  felt  more  and  more  every  day,  as  their  characters  developed, 
that  he  stood  alone,  and  did  not  make  friends  among  their  con- 
temporaries, and  therefore  sought  him  out.  Tom  was  himself 
much  more  popular,  for  his  power  of  detecting  humbug  was  much 
less  acute,  and  his  instincts  were  much  more  sociable.  He  was 
at  this  period  of  his  life,  too,  largely  given  to  taking  people  for 
what  they  gave  themselves  out  to  be;  but  his  singleness  of  heart, 
fearlessness,  and  honesty  were  just  what  East  appreciated,  and 
thus  the  two  had  been  drawn  into  greater  intimacy. 

This  intimacy  had  not  been  interrupted  by  Tom's  guardianship 
of  Arthur. 

East  had  often,  as  has  been  said,  joined  them  in  reading  the 
Bible;  but  their  discussions  had  almost  always  turned  upon  the 
characters  of  the  men  and  women  of  whom  they  read,  and  not 

[330] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

become  personal  to  themselves.  In  fact,  the  two  had  shrunk 
from  personal  religious  discussion,  not  knowing  how  it  might  end, 
and  fearful  of  risking  a  friendship  very  dear  to  both,  and  which 
they  felt,  somehow,  without  quite  knowing  why,  would  never  be 
the  same,  but  either  tenfold  stronger  or  sapped  at  Its  foundation, 
after  such  a  communing  together. 

What  a  bother  all  this  explaining  Is!  I  wish  we  could  get  on 
without  It.  But  we  can't.  However,  you'll  all  find,  If  you  haven't 
found  it  out  alread}',  that  a  time  comes  In  every  human  friendship 
when  you  must  go  down  Into  the  depths  of  yourself  and  lay  bare 
what  Is  there  to  your  friend,  and  wait  In  fear  for  his  answer.  A 
few  moments  may  do  It;  and  It  may  be  (most  likely  will  be,  as  you 
are  English  boys)  that  you  never  do  It  but  once.  But  done  it 
must  be.  If  the  friendship  Is  to  be  worth  the  name.  You  must 
find  what  Is  there,  at  the  very  root  and  bottom  of  one  another's 
hearts;  and  If  you  are  at  once  there,  nothing  on  earth  can,  or  at 
least  ought  to,  sunder  you. 

East  had  remained  lying  down  until  Tom  finished  speaking, 
as  If  fearing  to  Interrupt  him;  he  now  sat  up  at  the  table,  and 
leaned  his  head  on  one  hand,  taking  up  a  pencil  with  the  other 
and  working  little  holes  with  It  In  the  table-cover.  After  a  bit  he 
looked  up,  stopped  the  pencil,  and  said:  "Thank  you  very  much, 
old  fellow;  there's  no  other  boy  In  the  house  would  have  done  It 
for  me  but  you  or  Arthur.  I  can  see  well  enough,"  he  went  on 
after  a  pause,  "all  the  best  big  fellows  look  on  me  with  suspicion; 
they  think  I'm  a  devil-may-care,  reckless  young  scamp.  So  I  am 
— eleven  hours  out  of  twelve — but  not  the  twelfth.  Then  all  of 
our  contemporaries  worth  knowing  follow  suit,  of  course;  we're 
very  good  friends  at  games  and  all  that,  but  not  a  soul  of  them  but 
you  and  Arthur  ever  tried  to  break  through  the  crust  and  see 
whether  there  was  anything  at  the  bottom  of  me;  and  then  the  bad 
ones  1  won't  stand,  and  they  know  that." 

"Don't  you  think  that's  half  fancy,  Harry?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  It,"  said  East,  bitterly,  pegging  away  with  his 

[33^] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

pencil.  *'I  see  it  all  plain  enough.  Bless  you,  you  think  every- 
body's as  straightforward  and  kind-hearted  as  you  are." 

"Well,  but  what's  the  reason  of  it  ?  There  must  be  a  reason. 
You  can  play  all  the  games  as  well  as  any  one,  and  sing  the  best 
song,  and  are  the  best  company  in  the  house.  You  fancy  you're 
not  liked,  Harry.     It's  all  fancy." 

"  I  only  wish  it  was,  Tom.  I  know  I  could  be  popular  enough 
with  all  the  bad  ones,  but  that  I  won't  have,  and  the  good  ones 
won't  have  me." 

"Why  not  ?"  persisted  Tom;  "you  don't  drink  or  swear,  or  get 
out  at  night;  you  never  bully,  or  cheat  at  lessons.  If  you  only 
showed  you  liked  it,  you'd  have  all  the  best  fellows  in  the  house 
running  after  you." 

"Not  I,"  said  East.  Then,  with  an  effort,  he  went  on:  "I'll 
tell  you  what  it  is.  I  never  stop  the  Sacrament.  I  can  see,  from 
the  Doctor  downward,  how  that  tells  against  me." 

"Yes,  I've  seen  that,"  said  Tom,  "and  I've  been  very  sorry  for 
it,  and  Arthur  and  I  have  talked  about  it.  I've  often  thought  of 
speaking  to  you,  but  it's  so  very  hard  to  begin  on  such  subjects. 
I'm  very  glad  you've  opened  it.     Now,  why  don't  you  .?" 

"I've  never  been  confirmed,"  said  East. 

"Not  been  confirmed!"  said  Tom,  in  astonishment.  "I've 
never  thought  of  that.  Why  weren't  you  confirmed  with  the  rest 
of  us  nearly  three  years  ago  .?  I  always  thought  you'd  been  con- 
firmed at  home." 

"No,"  answered  East,  sorrowfully;  "you  see,  this  was  how  it 
happened.  Last  Confirmation  was  soon  after  Arthur  came,  and 
you  were  so  taken  up  with  him  I  hardly  saw  either  of  you.  Well, 
when  the  Doctor  sent  round  for  us  about  it,  I  was  living  mostly 
with  Green's  set — you  know  the  sort.  They  all  went  in — I  dare 
say  it  was  all  right,  and  they  got  good  by  it;  I  don't  want  to  judge 
them.  Only  all  I  could  see  of  their  reasons  drove  me  just  the 
other  way.  'Twas  'because  the  Doctor  liked  it';  *no  boy  got  on 
who  didn't  stay  the  Sacrament';  'it  was  the  correct  thing'— in 

[33^1 


SCHOOL  DAYS 

fact,  like  having  a  good  hat  to  wear  on  Sundays.  I  couldn't 
stand  it.  i  didn't  feel  that  1  wanted  to  lead  a  different  life;  i  was 
very  well  content  as  1  was,  and  i  wasn't  going  to  sham  religious 
to  curry  favor  with  the  Doctor  or  any  one  else." 

East  stopped  speaking,  and  pegged  away  more  diligently  than 
ever  with  his  pencil.  Tom  was  ready  to  cry.  He  felt  half  sorry 
at  first  that  he  had  been  confirmed  himself.  He  seemed  to  have 
deserted  his  earliest  friend,  to  have  left  him  by  himself  at  his 
worst  need  for  those  long  years.  He  got  up  and  went  and  sat 
by  East  and  put  his  arm  over  his  shoulder. 

"Dear  old  boy,"  he  said,  "how  careless  and  selfish  I've  been. 
But  why  didn't  you  come  and  talk  to  Arthur  and  me  r' 

"I  wish  to  heaven  1  had,"  said  East,  "but  I  was  a  fool.  It's 
too  late  talking  of  it  now." 

"Why  too  late  ?     You  want  to  be  confirmed  now,  don't  you  r' 

"I  think  so,"  said  East.  "I've  thought  about  it  a  good  deal; 
only  often  I  fancy  I  must  be  changing,  because  I  see  it's  to  do  me 
good  here,  just  what  stopped  me  last  time.  And  then  I  go  back 
again." 

"  I'll  tell  vou  now  how  'twas  with  me,"  said  Tom,  warmly.  "  If 
It  hadn't  been  for  Arthur,  I  should  have  done  just  as  you  did.  I 
hope  I  should.  I  honor  you  for  it.  But  then  he  made  it  out  just 
as  if  it  was  taking  the  weak  side  before  all  the  world — going  in 
once  for  all  against  everything  that's  strong  and  rich  and  proud 
and  respectable,  a  little  band  of  brothers  against  the  whole  world. 
And  the  Doctor  seemed  to  say  so,  too,  only  he  said  a  great  deal 


more." 


"Ah!"  groaned  East,  "but  there  again,  that's  just  another  of 
my  difficulties  whenever  I  think  about  the  matter.  I  don't  want 
to  be  one  of  your  saints,  one  of  your  elect,  whatever  the  right 
phrase  is.  My  sympathies  are  all  the  other  way;  with  the  many, 
the  poor  devils  who  run  about  the  streets  and  don't  go  to  church. 
Don't  stare,  Tom;  mind,  I'm  telling  you  all  that's  in  my  heart — 
as  far  as  I  know  it — but  it's  all  a  muddle.     You  must  be  gentle 

[333] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

with  me  if  you  want  to  land  me.  Now,  I've  seen  a  deal  of  this 
sort  of  religion;  I  was  bred  up  in  it,  and  I  can't  stand  it.  If 
nineteen-twentieths  of  the  world  are  to  be  left  to  uncovenanted 
mercies,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  which  means  in  plain  English  to 
go  to  hell,  and  the  other  twentieth  are  to  rejoice  at  it  all,  why — " 

"Oh!  but,  Harry,  they  ain't,  they  don't,"  broke  in  Tom,  really 
shocked.  "Oh,  how  I  wish  Arthur  hadn't  gone!  I'm  such  a 
fool  about  these  things.  But  it's  all  you  want,  too,  East;  it  is, 
indeed.  It  cuts  both  ways  somehow,  being  confirmed  and  taking 
the  Sacrament.  It  makes  you  feel  on  the  side  of  all  the  good,  and 
all  the  bad,  too,  of  everybody  in  the  world.  Only  there's  some 
great,  dark,  strong  power  which  is  crushing  you  and  everybody 
else.  That's  what  Christ  conquered,  and  we've  got  to  fight. 
What  a  fool  I  am!     I  can't  explain.     If  Arthur  were  only  here!" 

"I  begin  to  get  a  glimmering  of  what  you  mean,"  said  East. 

"I  say,  now,"  said  Tom,  eagerly,  "do  you  remember  how  we 
both  hated  Flashman  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  said  East;  "I  hate  him  still.     What  then  ?" 

"Well,  when  I  came  to  take  the  Sacrament  I  had  a  great 
struggle  about  that.  I  tried  to  put  him  out  of  my  head;  and,  when 
I  couldn't  do  that,  I  tried  to  think  of  him  as  evil,  as  something 
that  the  Lord  who  was  loving  me  hated,  and  which  I  might  hate, 
too.  But  it  wouldn't  do.  I  broke  down:  I  believe  Christ  Him- 
self br  ke  me  down;  and  when  the  Doctor  gave  me  the  bread  and 
wine,  and  leaned  over  me  praying,  I  prayed  for  poor  Flashman, 
as  if  it  had  been  you  or  Arthur." 

East  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  on  the  table.  Tom  could  feel 
the  table  tremble.  At  last  he  looked  up,  "Thank  you  again, 
Tom,"  said  he;  "you  don't  know  what  you  may  have  done  for 
me  to-night.  I  think  I  see  now  how  the  right  sort  of  sympathy 
with  poor  devils  is  got  at." 

"And  you'll  stop  the  Sacrament  next  time,  won't  you?"  said 
Tom. 

"Can  I,  before  I'm  confirmed  ?" 

[334] 


EAST    FOLLOWED    THE    DOCTOR    AND    THE    OLD 

VERGER 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

"Go  and  ask  the  Doctor." 

"I  will." 

That  very  night,  after  prayers,  East  followed  the  Doctor  and 
the  old  verger  bearing  the  candle  up-stairs.  Tom  watched,  and 
saw  the  Doctor  turn  round  when  he  heard  footsteps  following 
him  closer  than  usual,  and  say,  "Hah!  East!  Do  you  want  to 
speak  with  me,  my  man  V' 

"If  you  please,  sir";  and  the  private  door  closed  and  Tom  went 
to  his  study  in  a  state  of  great  trouble  of  mind. 

It  was  almost  an  hour  before  East  came  back;  then  he  rushed 
in  breathless. 

"Well,  it's  all  right!"  he  shouted,  seizing  Tom  by  the  hand.  "I 
feel  as  if  a  ton  weight  were  off  my  mind." 

"Hurra!"  said  Tom.  "I  knew  it  would  be;  but  tell  us  all 
about  it." 

"Well,  I  just  told  him  all  about  it.  You  can't  think  how  kind 
and  gentle  he  was,  the  great,  grim  man,  whom  I  feared  more  than 
anybody  on  earth.  When  I  stuck,  he  lifted  me,  just  as  if  I  had 
been  a  little  child.  And  he  seemed  to  know  all  I'd  felt,  and  to 
have  gone  through  it  all.  And  I  burst  out  crying — more  than 
I've  done  this  five  years;  and  he  sat  down  by  me  and  stroked  my 
head;  and  I  went  blundering  on,  and  told  him  all — much  worse 
things  than  I've  told  you.  And  he  wasn't  shocked  a  bit,  and 
didn't  snub  me,  or  tell  me  I  was  a  fool,  and  it  was  all  nothing  but 
pride  or  wickedness,  though  I  dare  say  it  was.  And  he  didn't 
tell  me  not  to  follow  out  my  thoughts,  and  he  didn't  give  me  any 
cut-and-dried  explanation.  But  when  I'd  done  he  just  talked  a 
bit — I  can  hardly  remember  what  he  said  yet;  but  it  seemed  to 
spread  round  me  like  healing  and  strength  and  light;  and  to  bear 
me  up  and  plant  me  on  a  rock,  where  I  could  hold  my  footing 
and  fight  for  myself.  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  I  feel  so  happy. 
And  it's  all  owing  to  you,  dear  old  boy!"  and  he  seized  Tom's 
hand  again. 

"And  you're  to  come  to  the  Communion  ?"  said  Tom. 

[  3V  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Yes,  and  to  be  confirmed  in  the  holidays." 

Tom's  delight  was  as  great  as  his  friend's.  But  he  hadn't  yet 
had  out  all  his  own  talk,  and  was  bent  on  improving  the  occasion; 
so  he  proceeded  to  propound  Arthur's  theory  about  not  being 
sorry  for  his  friends'  deaths,  which  he  had  hitherto  kept  in  the 
background,  and  by  which  he  was  much  exercised;  for  he  didn't 
feel  it  honest  to  take  what  pleased  him  and  throw  over  the  rest, 
and  was  trying  vigorously  to  persuade  himself  that  he  should  like 
all  his  best  friends  to  die  offhand. 

But  East's  powers  of  remaining  serious  were  exhausted,  and  in 
five  minutes  he  was  saying  the  most  ridiculous  things  he  could 
think  of,  till  Tom  was  almost  getting  angry  again. 

Despite  of  himself,  however,  he  couldn't  help  laughing  and 
giving  it  up,  when  East  appealed  to  him  with,  "Well,  Tom,  you 
ain't  going  to  punch  my  head,  I  hope,  because  I  insist  upon  being 
sorry  when  you  get  to  earth  ?" 

And  so  their  talk  finished  for  that  time,  and  they  tried  to  learn 
first  lesson;  with  very  poor  success,  as  appeared  next  morning, 
when  they  were  called  up  and  narrowly  escaped  being  floored, 
which  ill-luck,  however,  did  not  sit  heavily  on  either  of  their  souls. 


"■\ 


SCHOOL    DAYS 


■■njv-^ 


H. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


111  Mir  I — '   '  *^ 


TOM    BROWN  S    LAST  MATCH 

"Heaven  grant  the  manlier  heart,  that  timely,  ere 
Youth  fly,  with  life's  real  tempest  would  be  coping; 
The  fruit  of  dreamy  hoping 
Is,  waking,  blank  despair." 

— Clough,  Ambarvalia. 

HE  curtain  now  rises  upon  the  last  act  of  our 
little  drama — for  hard-hearted  publishers  warn 
me  that  a  single  volume  must  of  necessity  have 
an  end.  Well,  well!  the  pleasantest  things 
must  come  to  an  end.  I  little  thought  last 
long  vacation,  when  I  began  these  pages  to 
help  while  away  some  spare  time  at  a  watering- 
place,  how  vividly  many  an  old  scene,  which  had  lain  hid  away 
for  years  in  some  dusty  old  corner  of  my  brain,  would  come  hack 
again  and  stand  before  me  as  clear  and  bright  as  if  it  had  hap- 
pened yesterday.  The  book  has  been  a  most  grateful  task  to  me, 
and  1  only  hope  that  all  you,  my  dear  young  friends  who  read  it 

[339] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

(friends  assuredly  you  must  be,  if  you  get  as  far  as  this),  will  be 
half  as  sorry  to  come  to  the  last  stage  as  I  am. 

Not  but  what  there  has  been  a  solemn  and  a  sad  side  to  it.  As 
the  old  scenes  became  living,  and  the  actors  in  them  became  living, 
too,  many  a  grave  in  the  Crimea  and  distant  India,  as  well  as  in 
the  quiet  church-yards  of  our  dear  old  country,  seemed  to  open 
and  send  forth  their  dead,  and  their  voices  and  looks  and  ways 
were  again  in  one's  ears  and  eyes  as  in  the  old  school  days.  But 
this  was  not  sad;  how  should  it  be,  if  we  believe  as  our  Lord 
has  taught  us  ?  How  should  it  be,  when,  one  more  turn 
of  the  wheel,  and  we  shall  be  by  their  sides  again,  learning 
from  them  again,  perhaps,  as  we  did  when  we  were  new 
boys. 

Then  there  were  others  of  the  old  faces  so  dear  to  us  once, 
who  had  somehow  or  other  just  gone  clean  out  of  sight — are  they 
dead  or  living  ?  We  know  not;  but  the  thought  of  them  brings 
no  sadness  with  it.  Wherever  they  are,  we  can  well  believe  they 
are  doing  God's  work  and  getting  His  wages. 

But  are  there  not  some,  whom  we  still  see  sometimes  in  the 
streets,  whose  haunts  and  homes  we  know,  whom  we  could  prob- 
ably find  almost  any  day  in  the  week  if  we  were  set  to  do  it,  yet 
from  whom  we  are  really  farther  than  we  are  from  the  dead,  and 
from  those  who  have  gone  out  of  our  ken  ?  Yes,  there  are  and 
must  be  such;  and  therein  lies  the  sadness  of  old  school  memories. 
Yet  of  these  our  old  comrades,  from  whom  more  than  time  and 
space  separate  us,  there  are  some  by  whose  sides  we  can  feel  sure 
that  we  shall  stand  again  when  time  shall  be  no  more.  We  may 
think  of  one  another  now  as  dangerous  fanatics  or  narrow  bigots, 
with  whom  no  truce  is  possible,  from  whom  we  shall  only  sever 
more  and  more  to  the  end  of  our  lives,  whom  it  would  be  our 
respective  duties  to  imprison  or  hang,  if  we  had  the  power.  We 
must  go  our  way,  and  they  theirs,  as  long  as  flesh  and  spirit  hold 
together;  but  let  our  own  Rugby  poet  speak  words  of  healing  for 
this  trial: 

[340] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"To  veer,  how  vain!    on,  onward  strain, 
Brave  barks!    in  li<!;ht,  in  darkness  too; 
Through  winds  and  tides  one  compass  guides. 
To  that,  and  your  own  selves,  be  true. 

But,  O  blithe  breeze!    and  O  great  seas! 

Though  ne'er  that  earliest  parting  past. 
On  your  wide  plain  they  join  again. 

Together  lead  them  home  at  last. 

One  port,  methought,  alike  they  sought. 
One  purpose  hold  where'er  they  fare. 

O  bounding  breeze!    O  rushing  seas! 
At  last,  at  last,  unite  them  there."* 

This  is  not  mere  longing;  it  is  prophecy.  So  over  these  two, 
our  old  friends  who  are  friends  no  more,  we  sorrow  not  as  men 
without  hope.  It  is  only  for  those  who  seem  to  us  to  have  lost 
compass  and  purpose,  and  to  be  driven  helplessly  on  rocks  and 
quicksands — whose  lives  are  spent  in  the  service  of  the  world,  the 
flesh,  and  the  devil,  for  self  alone,  and  not  for  their  fellow-men, 
their  country,  or  their  God — that  we  must  mourn  and  pray  with- 
out sure  hope  and  without  light;  trusting  only  that  He,  in  whose 
hands  they  as  well  as  we  are,  who  has  died  for  them  as  well  as 
for  us,  who  sees  all  His  creatures 

"With  larger,  other  eyes  than  ours, 
To  make  allowance  for  us  all," 

will,  in  His  own  way  and  at  His  own  time,  lead  them  also  home. 

Another  two  years  have  passed,  and  it  is  again  the  end  of  the 
summer  half-year  at  Rugby;  in  fact,  the  school  has  broken  up. 
The  fifth-form  examinations  were  over  Kast  week,  and  upon  them 
have  followed  the  speeches  and  the  sixth-form  examinations  for 

*  Cloiigh,  AmJhirvalia. 

[341] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

exhibitions;  and  they,  too,  are  over  now.  The  boys  have  gone 
to  all  the  winds  of  heaven,  except  the  town  boys  and  the  eleven, 
and  the  few  enthusiasts  besides  who  have  asked  leave  to  stay  in 
their  houses  to  see  the  result  of  the  cricket-matches.  For  this 
year  the  Wellesburn  return  match  and  the  Marylebone  match  are 
played  at  Rugby,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  town  and  neighbor- 
hood, and  the  sorrow  of  those  aspiring  young  cricketers  who  have 
been  reckoning  for  the  last  three  months  on  showing  off  at  Lord's 
ground. 

The  Doctor  started  for  the  Lakes  yesterday  morning,  after  an 
interview  with  the  captain  of  the  eleven,  in  the  presence  of  Thomas, 
at  which  he  arranged  in  what  school  the  cricket  dinners  were  to 
be,  and  all  other  matters  necessary  for  the  satisfactory  carrying- 
out  of  the  festivities;  and  warned  them  as  to  keeping  all  spirituous 
liquors  out  of  the  close  and  having  the  gates  closed  by  nine  o'clock. 

The  Wellesburn  match  was  played  out  with  great  success  yes- 
terday, the  School  winning  by  three  wickets;  and  to-day  the  great 
event  of  the  cricketing  year,  the  Marylebone  match,  is  being 
played.  What  a  match  it  has  been!  The  London  eleven  came 
down  by  an  afternoon  train  yesterday,  in  time  to  see  the  end  of 
the  Wellesburn  match;  and,  as  soon  as  it  was  over,  their  leading 
men  and  umpire  inspected  the  ground,  criticising  it  rather  un- 
mercifully The  captain  of  the  School  eleven,  and  one  or  two 
others,  who  had  played  the  Lord's  match  before,  and  knew  old 
Mr.  Aislabie  and  several  of  the  Lord's  men,  accompanied  them; 
while  the  rest  of  the  eleven  looked  on  from  under  the  Three  Trees 
with  admiring  eyes,  and  asked  one  another  the  names  of  the  illus- 
trious strangers,  and  recounted  how  many  runs  each  of  them  had 
made  in  the  late  matches  in  BelV s  Life.  They  looked  such  hard- 
bitten, wiry,  whiskered  fellows  that  their  young  adversaries  felt 
rather  desponding  as  to  the  result  of  the  morrow's  match.  The 
ground  was  at  last  chosen,  and  two  men  set  to  work  upon  it  to 
water  and  roll;  and  then,  there  being  yet  some  half-hour  of  day- 
light, some  one  had  suggested  a  dance  on  the  turf.     The  close  was 

[  342  ] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

half  full  of  citizens  and  their  families,  and  the  idea  was  hailed  with 
enthusiasm.  The  cornopean  player  was  still  on  the  ground;  in 
five  minutes  the  eleven  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  Wellesburn  and 
Marylebone  men  got  partners  somehow  or  other,  and  a  merry 
country-dance  was  going  on,  to  which  every  one  flocked  and  new 
couples  joined  in  every  minute,  till  there  were  a  hundred  of  them 
going  down  the  middle  and  up  again — and  the  long  line  of  school 
buildings  looked  gravely  down  on  them,  every  window  glowing 
with  the  last  rays  of  the  western  sun,  and  the  rooks  clanged  about 
in  the  tops  of  the  old  elms,  greatly  excited,  and  resolved  on  having 
their  country-dance,  too,  and  the  great  flag  flapped  lazily  in  the 
gentle  western  breeze.  Altogether  it  was  a  sight  which  would 
have  made  glad  the  heart  of  our  brave  old  founder,  Lawrence 
Sheriff,  if  he  were  half  as  good  a  fellow  as  I  take  him  to  have  been. 
It  was  a  cheerful  sight  to  see;  but  what  made  it  so  valuable  in  the 
sight  of  the  captain  of  the  School  eleven  was  that  he  there  saw 
his  young  hands  shaking  off^  their  shyness  and  awe  of  the  Lord's 
men,  as  they  crossed  hands  and  capered  about  on  the  grass  to- 
gether; for  the  strangers  e  tered  into  it  all,  and  threw  away  their 
cigars,  and  danced  and  shouted  like  boys;  while  old  Mr,  Aislabic 
stood  by  looking  on  in  his  white  hat,  leaning  on  a  bat,  in  benevo- 
lent enjoyment.  "This  hop  will  be  worth  thirty  runs  to  us  to- 
morrow, and  will  be  the  making  of  Raggles  and  Johnson,"  thinks 
the  young  leader,  as  he  revolves  many  things  in  his  mind,  standing 
by  the  side  of  Mr.  Aislabie,  whom  he  will  not  leave  for  a  minute, 
for  he  feels  that  the  character  of  the  school  for  courtesy  is  resting 
on  his  shoulders. 

But  when  a  quarter  to  nine  struck,  and  he  saw  old  Thomas 
beginning  to  fidget  about  with  the  keys  in  his  hand,  he  thought 
of  the  Doctor's  parting  monition,  and  stopped  the  cornopean  at 
once,  notwithstanding  the  loud-voiced  remonstrances  from  all 
sides;  and  the  crowd  scattered  away  from  the  close,  the  eleven  all 
going  into  the  School-house,  where  supper  and  beds  were  provided 
for  them  by  the  Doctor's  orders. 

[  ^4^  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

Deep  had  been  the  consultations  at  supper  as  to  the  order  of 
going  in,  who  should  bowl  the  first  over,  whether  it  would  be  best 
to  play  steady  or  freely;  and  the  youngest  hands  declared  that  they 
shouldn't  be  a  bit  nervous,  and  praised  their  opponents  as  the 
jolliest  fellows  in  the  world,  except,  perhaps,  their  old  friends  the 
Wellesburn  men.  How  far  a  little  good-nature  from  their  elders 
will  go  with  the  right  sort  of  boys ! 

The  morning  had  dawned  bright  and  warm,  to  the  intense  relief 
of  many  an  anxious  youngster,  up  betimes  to  mark  the  signs  of 
the  weather.  The  eleven  went  down  in  a  body  before  breakfast, 
for  a  plunge  in  the  cold  bath  in  the  corner  of  the  close.  The 
ground  was  in  splendid  order,  and  soon  after  ten  o'clock,  before 
spectators  had  arrived,  all  was  ready,  and  two  of  the  Lord's  men 
took  their  places  at  the  wicket;  the  School,  with  the  usual  liberality 
of  young  hands,  having  put  their  adversaries  in  first.  Old  Bailey 
stepped  up  to  the  wicket  and  called  play,  and  the  match  has  begun. 

"Oh,  well  bowled!  well  bowled,  Johnson!"  cries  the  captain, 
catching  up  the  ball  and  sending  it  high  above  the  rook  trees, 
while  the  third  Marylebone  man  walks  away  from  the  wicket, 
and  Old  Bailey  gravely  sets  up  the  middle  stump  again  and  puts 
the  bails  on. 

"How  many  runs  ?"  Away  scamper  three  boys  to  the  scoring- 
table,  and  are  back  again  in  a  minute  among  the  rest  of  the  eleven, 
who  are  collected  together  in  a  knot  between  wickets.  "Only 
eighteen  runs,  and  three  wickets  down !"  "  Huzza  for  old  Rugby !" 
sings  out  Jack  Raggles,  the  long-stop,  toughest  and  burliest  of 
boys,  commonly  called  "Swiper  Jack";  and  forthwith  stands  on 
his  head,  and  brandishes  his  legs  in  the  air  in  triumph,  till  the 
next  boy  catches  hold  of  his  heels  and  throws  him  over  onto  his 
back. 

"Steady,  there! — don't  be  such  an  ass,  Jack,'*  says  the  captain; 
"we  haven't  got  the  best  wicket  yet.  Ah,  look  out  now  at  cover- 
point,"  adds  he,  as  he  sees  a  long-armed,  bare-headed,  slashing- 

[344] 


SCHOOLDAYS 

looking  plajcr  coming  to  the  wicket.  "And,  Jack,  mind  your 
hits;  he  steals  more  runs  than  any  man  in  England." 

And  they  all  find  that  they  have  got  their  work  to  do  now:  the 
new-comer's  off-hitting  is  tremendous,  and  his  running  like  a 
flash  of  lightning.  He  is  never  in  his  ground,  except  when  his 
wicket  is  down.  Nothing  in  the  whole  game  so  trying  to  boys; 
he  has  stolen  three  byes  in  the  first  ten  minutes,  and  Jack  Raggles 
is  furious,  and  begins  throwing  over  savagely  to  the  farther  wicket, 
until  he  is  sternly  stopped  by  the  captain.  It  is  all  that  that  young 
gentleman  can  do  to  keep  his  team  steady,  but  he  knows  that 
everything  depends  on  it,  and  faces  his  work  bravely.  The  score 
creeps  up  to  fifty,  the  boys  begin  to  look  blank,  and  the  spectators, 
who  are  now  mustering  strong,  are  very  silent.  The  ball  flies  off 
his  bat  to  all  parts  of  the  field,  and  he  gives  no  rest  and  no  catches 
to  any  one.  But  cricket  is  full  of  glorious  chances,  and  the  goddess 
who  presides  over  it  loves  to  bring  dov/n  the  most  skilful  players. 
Johnson,  the  young  bowler,  is  getting  wild,  and  bowls  a  ball  almost 
wide  to  the  off;  the  batter  steps  out  and  cuts  it  beautifully  to  w^here 
cover-point  is  standing  very  deep — in  fact,  almost  off  the  ground. 
The  ball  comes  skimming  and  twisting  along  about  three  feet 
from  the  ground;  he  rushes  at  it,  and  it  sticks  somehow  or  other 
in  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand,  to  the  utter  astonishment  of  himself 
and  the  whole  field.  Such  a  catch  hasn't  been  made  in  the  close 
for  years,  and  the  cheering  is  maddening.  "  Pretty  cricket,"  says 
the  captain,  throwing  himself  on  the  ground  by  the  deserted  wicket 
with  a  long  breath;  he  feels  that  a  crisis  has  passed. 

I  wish  I  had  space  to  describe  the  whole  match;  how  the  captain 
stumped  the  next  man  off  a  leg-shooter,  and  bowled  slow  lobs  to 
old  Mr.  Aislabie,  who  came  in  for  the  last  wicket.  How  the  Lord's 
men  were  out  by  half-past  twelve  o'clock  for  ninety-eight  runs. 
How  the  captain  of  the  School  eleven  went  in  first  to  give  his  men 
pluck,  and  scored  twenty-five  in  beautiful  style;  how  Rugby  was 
only  four  behind  in  the  first  innings.  What  a  glorious  dinner 
they  had  in  the  fourth-form  school,  and  how  the  cover-point  hitter 

24  [  345  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

sang  the  most  topping  comic  songs,  and  old  Mr.  Aislabie  made 
the  best  speeches  that  ever  were  heard,  afterward.  But  I  haven't 
space,  that's  the  fact,  and  so  you  must  fancy  it  all,  and  carry  your- 
selves on  to  half-past  seven  o'clock,  when  the  School  are  again  in, 
with  five  wickets  down  and  only  thirty-two  runs  to  make  to  win. 
The  Marylebone  men  played  carelessly  in  their  second  innings, 
but  they  are  working  like  horses  now  to  save  the  match. 

There  is  much  healthy,  hearty,  happy  life  scattered  up  and 
down  the  close;  but  the  group  to  which  1  beg  to  call  your  especial 
attention  is  there  on  the  slope  of  the  island,  which  looks  toward 
the  cricket-ground.  It  consists  of  three  figures;  two  are  seated  on 
a  bench,  and  one  on  the  ground  at  their  feet.  The  first,  a  tall, 
slight,  and  rather  gaunt  man,  with  a  bushy  eyebrow  and  a  dry, 
humorous  smile,  is  evidently  a  clergyman.  He  is  carelessly 
dressed,  and  looks  rather  used  up,  which  isn't  much  to  be  won- 
dered at,  seeing  that  he  has  just  finished  six  weeks  of  examination 
work;  but  there  he  basks,  and  spreads  himself  out  in  the  evening 
sun,  bent  on  enjoying  life,  though  he  doesn't  quite  know  what  to 
do  with  his  arms  and  legs.  Surely  it  is  our  friend  the  young 
master,  whom  we  have  had  glimpses  of  before,  but  his  face  has 
gained  a  great  deal  since  we  last  came  across  him. 

And  by  his  side,  in  white  flannel  shirt  and  trousers,  straw  hat, 
the  captain's  belt,  and  the  untanned,  yellow  cricket  shoes  which 
all  the  eleven  wear,  sits  a  strapping  figure  near  six  feet  high,  with 
ruddy,  tanned  face  and  whiskers,  curly  brown  hair,  and  a  laugh- 
ing, dancing  eye.  He  is  leaning  forward,  with  his  elbows  resting 
on  his  knees  and  dandling  his  favorite  bat,  with  which  he  has 
made  thirty  or  forty  runs  to-day,  in  his  strong,  brown  hands.  It 
is  Tom  Brown,  grown  into  a  young  man  nineteen  years  old,  a 
pr.TEpostor  and  captain  of  the  eleven,  spending  his  last  day  as  a 
Rugby  boy,  and  let  us  hope  as  much  wiser  as  he  is  bigger  since  we 
last  had  the  pleasure  of  coming  across  him. 

And  at  their  feet  on  the  warm,  dry  ground,  similarly  dressed, 
sits  Arthur,  Turkish  fashion,  with  his  bat  across  his  knees.     He, 

[346] 


IT  IS  TOM  BROWN,  GROWN  INTO  A  YOUNG  MAN 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

too,  is  no  longer  a  boy,  less  of  a  boy  in  fact  than  Tom,  if  one  may 
judge  from  the  thoughtfuhiess  of  his  face,  which  is  somewhat 
paler,  too,  than  one  could  wish;  but  his  figure,  though  slight,  is 
well  knit  and  active,  and  all  his  old  timidity  has  disappeared,  and 
is  replaced  by  silent,  quaint  fun,  with  which  his  face  twinkles  all 
over  as  he  listens  to  tha  broken  talk  between  the  other  two,  in 
which  he  joins  every  now  and  then. 

All  three  are  watching  the  game  eagerly,  and  joining  in  the 
cheering  which  follows  every  good  hit.  It  is  pleasing  to  see  the 
easy,  friendly  footing  which  the  pupils  are  on  with  their  master, 
perfectly  respectful,  yet  with  no  reserve  and  nothing  forced  in 
their  intercourse.  Tom  has  clearly  abandoned  the  old  theory  of 
"natural  enemies,"  in  this  case,  at  any  rate. 

But  it  is  time  to  listen  to  what  they  are  saying,  and  see  what  we 
can  gather  out  of  it. 

"I  don't  object  to  your  theory,'*  says  the  master,  "and  I  allow 
you  have  made  a  fair  case  for  yourself.  But  now,  in  such  books 
as  Aristophanes,  for  instance,  you've  been  reading  a  play  this  half 
with  the  Doctor,  haven't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  The  Km  gilts, ^^  answered  Tom. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  you  would  have  enjoyed  the  wonderful  humor 
of  it  twice  as  much  if  you  had  taken  more  pains  with  your  scholar- 

ip. 

"Well,  sir,  I  don't  believe  any  boy  in  the  form  enjoyed  the  set- 
to  between  Cleon  and  the  Sausage-seller  more  than  I  did — eh, 
Arthur  ?"  said  Tom,  giving  him  a  stir  with  his  foot. 

"Yes,  I  must  say  he  did,"  said  Arthur.  "I  think,  sir,  you've 
hit  upon  the  wrong  book  there." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  the  master.  "Why,  in  those  very  pas- 
sages of  arms,  how  can  you  thoroughly  appreciate  them  unless  you 
are  master  of  the  weapons  .?  And  the  weapons  are  the  language, 
which  you,  Brown,  have  never  half  worked  at;  and  so,  as  I  say, 
you  must  have  lost  all  the  delicate  shades  of  meaning  which  make 
the  best  part  of  the  fun." 

[349] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

*'Oh!  well  played! — bravo,  Johnson!"  shouted  Arthur, dropping 
his  bat  and  clapping  furiously,  and  Tom  joined  in  with  a  "Bravo, 
Johnson!"  which  might  have  been  heard  at  the  chapel. 

"Eh!  what  was  it?  I  didn't  see,"  inquired  the  master;  "they 
only  got  one  run,  I  thought  ?" 

"No,  but  such  a  ball,  three-quarters  length  and  coming  straight 
for  his  leg  bail.  Nothing  but  that  turn  of  the  wrist  could  have 
saved  him,  and  he  drew  it  away  to  leg  for  a  safe  one.  Bravo, 
Johnson!" 

"How  well  they  are  bowling,  though,"  said  Arthur;  "they  don't 
mean  to  be  beat,  I  can  see." 

"There,  now,"  struck  in  the  master,  "you  see  that's  just  what 
I  have  been  preaching  this  half-hour.  The  delicate  play  is  the 
true  thing.  I  don't  understand  cricket,  so  I  don't  enjoy  those 
fine  draws  which  you  tell  me  are  the  best  play,  though  when  you 
or  Raggles  hit  a  ball  hard  away  for  six  I  am  as  delighted  as  any 
one.     Don't  you  see  the  analogy  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Tom,  looking  up  roguishly,  "I  see;  only 
the  question  remains  whether  1  should  have  got  most  good  by 
understanding  Greek  particles  or  cricket  thoroughly.  I'm  such 
a  thick,  I  never  should  have  had  time  for  both." 

"I  see  you  are  an  incorrigible,"  said  the  master,  with  a  chuckle; 
"but  I  refute  you  by  an  example.  Arthur  there  has  taken  in 
Greek  and  cricket  too." 

"Yes,  but  no  thanks  to  him;  Greek  came  natural  to  him.  Why, 
when  he  first  came  I  remember  he  used  to  read  Herodotus  for 
pleasure  as  I  did  Don  Quixote,  and  couldn't  have  made  a  false 
concord  if  he'd  tried  ever  so  hard — and  then  I  looked  after  his 
cricket." 

"Out!  Bailey  has  given  him  out  —  do  you  see,  Tom.''"  cries 
Arthur.     "How  foolish  of  them  to  run  so  hard." 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped;  he  has  played  very  well.  Whose 
turn  is  it  to  go  in  ?" 

"1  don't  know;  they've  got  your  list  in  the  tent." 

[350] 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

"Let's  go  and  see,"  said  lorn,  rising;  but  at  this  moment  Jack 
Haggles  and  t\vo  or  three  more  came  running  to  the  island  moat. 

"Oh,  Brown,  mayn't  I  go  in  next?"  shouts  the  Swiper. 

"Whose  name  is  next  on  the  list?"  says  the  captain. 

"Winter's,  and  then  Arthur's,"  answers  the  boy  who  carries  it; 
"but  there  are  only  twenty-six  runs  to  get,  and  no  time  to  lose. 
I  heard  Mr.  Aislabie  say  that  the  stumps  must  be  drawn  at  a 
quarter-past  eight  exactly." 

"Oh,  do  let  the  Swiper  go  in,"  chorus  the  boys;  so  Tom  yields 
against  his  better  judgment. 

"I  dare  say  now  I've  lost  the  match  by  this  nonsense,"  he  says, 
as  he  sits  down  again;  "they'll  be  sure  to  get  Jack's  wicket  in  three 
or  four  minutes;  however,  you'll  have  the  chance,  sir,  of  seeing  a 
hard  hit  or  two,"  adds  he,  smiling,  and  turning  to  the  master. 

"Come,  none  of  your  irony,  Brown,"  answers  the  master.  "I'm 
beginning  to  understand  the  game  scientifically.  What  a  noble 
game  it  is,  too!" 

"Isn't  it?  But  it's  more  than  a  game.  It's  an  institution," 
said  Tom. 

"Yes,"  said  Arthur,  "the  birthright  of  British  boys,  old  and 
young,  as  habeas  corpus  and  trial  by  jury  are  of  British  men." 

"The  discipline  and  reliance  on  one  another  which  it  teaches  is 
so  valuable,  1  think,"  went  on  the  master,  "it  ought  to  be  such 
an  unselfish  game.  It  merges  the  individual  in  the  eleven;  he 
doesn't  play  that  he  may  win,  but  that  his  side  may." 

"That's  very  true,"  said  Tom,  "and  that's  why  football  and 
cricket,  now  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  are  much  better  games 
than  fives'  or  hare-and-hounds,  or  any  others  where  the  object 
is  to  come  in  first  or  to  win  for  one's  self,  and  not  that  one's  side 
may  win." 

"And  then  the  captain  of  the  eleven,"  said  the  master,  "what 
a  post  is  his  in  our  school-world! — almost  as  hard  as  the  Doc- 
tor's; requiring  skill  and  gentleness  and  firmness,  and  I  know  not 
w^hat  other  rare  qualities." 

[351] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"Which  don't  he  wish  he  may  get?"  said  Tom,  laughing;  "at 
any  rate,  he  hasn't  got  them  yet,  or  he  wouldn't  have  been 
such   a   flat  to-night    as  to   let   Jack   Raggles   go  in  out  of  his 


" 
turn. 


"Ah!  the  Doctor  never  would  have  done  that,"  said  Arthur, 
demurely.  "Tom,  you've  a  great  deal  to  learn  yet  in  the  art  of 
ruling." 

"Well,  I  wish  you'd  tell  the  Doctor  so,  then,  and  get  him  to  let 
me  stop  till  I'm  twenty.     I  don't  want  to  leave,  I'm  sure." 

"What  a  sight  it  is,"  broke  in  the  master — "the  Doctor  as  a 
ruler.  Perhaps  ours  is  the  only  little  corner  of  the  British  Empire 
which  is  thoroughly,  wisely,  and  strongly  ruled  just  now.  I'm 
more  and  more  thankful  every  day  of  my  life  that  I  came  here  to 
be  under  him." 

"So  am  I,  I'm  sure,"  said  Tom;  "and  more  and  more  sorry 
that  I've  got  to  leave," 

"Every  place  and  thing  one  sees  here  reminds  one  of  some  w^ise 
act  of  his,"  went  on  the  master.  "This  island  now — you  remem- 
ber the  time.  Brown,  when  it  was  laid  out  in  small  gardens  and 
cultivated  by  frost-bitten  fags  in  February  and  March  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  said  Tom;  "didn't  I  hate  spending  two  hours 
in  the  afternoons  grubbing  in  the  tough  dirt  with  the  stump  of  a 
fives'-bat  ?     But  turf-cart  was  good  fun  enough." 

"I  dare  say  it  was,  but  it  was  always  leading  to  fights  with  the 
townspeople;  and  then  the  stealing  flowers  out  of  all  the  gardens 
in  Rugby  for  the  Easter  show  was  abominable." 

"Well,  so  it  was,"  said  Tom,  looking  down,  "but  we  fags 
couldn't  help  ourselves.  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  the  Doc- 
tor's ruling .?" 

"A  great  deal,  I  think,"  said  the  master;  "what  brought  island 
fagging  to  an  end  .?" 

"Why,  the  Easter  speeches  were  put  ofi*  till  midsummer,"  said 
Tom,  "and  the  sixth  had  the  gymnastic  poles  put  up  here." 

"Well,  and  who  changed  the  time  of  the  speeches  and  put  the 

[  .S52  ] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

idea  of  gymnastic  poles  into  the  heads  of  their  worships  the  sixth 
form  ?"  said  the  master. 

"The  Doctor,    1   suppose,"  said  Tom.     "1  never  thought  of 

that." 

"Of  course  you  didn't,"  said  the  master,  "or  else,  fag  as  you 
were,  you  would  have  shouted  with  the  whole  school  against  put- 
ting down  old  customs.  And  that's  the  way  that  all  the  Doctor's 
reforms  have  been  carried  out  when  he  has  been  left  to  himself — 
quietly  and  naturally,  putting  a  good  thing  in  the  place  of  a  bad, 
and  letting  the  bad  die  out;  no  wavering  and  no  hurry — the  j)est 
thiu"*^  that  could  be  done  for  the  time  being,  and  patience  for  the 
rest." 

"  [ust  Tom's  own  way,"  chimed  in  Arthur,  nudging  Tom  with 
his  elbow,  "  driving  a  nail  where  it  will  go  ";  to  which  allusion  lorn 
answered  by  a  sly  kick. 

"Exactly  so,"  said  the  master,  innocent  of  the  allusion  and  I)}- 
play. 

Meantime,  Jack  Haggles,  with  his  sleeves  tucked  up  above  his 
great,  brown  elbows,  scorning  pads  and  gloves,  has  presented 
himself  at  the  wicket,  and,  having  run  one  for  a  forward  drive 
of  Johnson's,  is  about  to  receive  his  first  ball.  There  are  only 
twenty-four  runs  to  make,  and  four  wickets  to  go  down — a  winning 
match  if  they  play  decently  steady.  The  ball  is  a  very  swift  one, 
and  rises  fast,  catching  Jack  on  the  outside  of  the  thigh,  and 
bounding  away  as  if  from  India-rubber,  while  they  run  two  for  a  leg- 
bye  amid  great  applause  and  shouts  from  jack's  many  admirers. 
The  next  ball  is  a  beautifully  pitched  ball  for  the  outer  stump, 
which  the  reckless  and  unfeeling  Jack  catches  hold  of  and  hits 
right  round  to  leg  for  five,  while  the  applause  becomes  deafening; 
only  seventeen  runs  to  get  with  four  wickets — the  game  is  all  but 
ours! 

It  is  "over"  now,  and  Jack  walks  swaggering  about  his  wicket, 
with  the  bat  over  his  shoulder,  while  Mr.  Aislabie  holds  a  short 
parley  with  his  men.     Then  the  cover-point  hitter,  that  cunning 

[353] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

man,  goes  on  to  bowl  slow  twisters.  Jack  waves  his  hand  tri- 
umphantly toward  the  tent,  as  much  as  to  say,  "See  if  I  don't 
finish  it  all  off  now  in  three  hits." 

Alas,  my  son  Jack!  the  enemy  is  too  old  for  thee.  The  first  ball 
of  the  over  Jack  steps  out  and  meets,  swiping  with  all  his  force. 
If  he  had  only  allowed  for  the  twist!  but  he  hasn't,  and  so  the  ball 
goes  spinning  up  straight  into  the  air,  as  if  it  would  never  come 
down  again.  Away  runs  Jack,  shouting  and  trusting  to  the  chap- 
ter of  accidents,  but  the  bowler  runs  steadily  under  it,  judging 
every  spin,  and,  calling  out  "I  have  it,"  catches  it,  and  playfully 
pitches  it  onto  the  back  of  the  stalwart  Jack,  who  is  departing 
with  a  rueful  countenance. 

"I  knew  how  it  would  be,"  says  Tom,  rising.  "Come  along, 
the  game's  getting  very  serious." 

So  they  leave  the  island  and  go  to  the  tent,  and  after  deep  con- 
sultation Arthur  is  sent  in,  and  goes  ofi^  to  the  wicket  with  a  last 
exhortation  from  Tom  to  play  steady  and  keep  his  bat  straight. 
To  the  suggestions  that  Winter  is  the  best  bat  left,  Tom  only  re- 
plies, "Arthur  is  the  steadiest,  and  Johnson  will  make  the  runs 
if  the  wicket  is  only  kept  up." 

"I  am  surprised  to  see  Arthur  In  the  eleven,"  said  the  master, 
as  they  stood  together  in  front  of  the  dense  crowd,  which  was  now 
closing  in  round  the  ground. 

"Well,  I'm  not  quite  sure  that  he  ought  to  be  in  for  his  play," 
said  Tom,  "but  I  couldn't  help  putting  him  in.  It  will  do  him 
so  much  good,  and  you  can't  think  what  I  owe  him." 

The  master  smiled.  The  clock  strikes  eight,  and  the  whole 
field  becomes  fevered  with  excitement.  Arthur,  after  two  narrow 
escapes,  scores  one;  and  Johnson  gets  the  ball.  The  bowling  and 
fielding  are  superb,  and  Johnson's  batting  worthy  the  occasion. 
He  makes  here  a  two,  and  there  a  one,  managing  to  keep  the  ball 
to  himself,  and  Arthur  backs  up  and  runs  perfectly — only  eleven 
runs  to  make  now,  and  the  crowd  scarcely  breathe.  At  last 
Arthur  gets  the  ball  again,  and  actually  drives  it  forward  for  two, 

[354] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

and  feels  prouder  than  when  he  got  the  three  best  prizes  at  hearing 
Tom's  shout  of  joy,  "Well  played,  well  played,  young  un!" 

But  the  next  ball  is  too  much  for  a  young  hand,  and  his  bails 
fly  different  ways.  Nine  runs  to  make,  and  two  wickets  to  go 
down — it  is  too  much  for  human  nerves. 

Before  Winter  can  get  in,  the  omnibus  which  is  to  take  the 
Lord's  men  to  the  train  pulls  up  at  the  side  of  the  close,  and  Mr. 
Aislabie  and  Tom  consult,  and  give  out  that  the  stumps  will  be 
drawn  after  the  next  over.  And  so  ends  the  great  match.  Winter 
and  Johnson  carry  out  their  bats,  and,  it  being  a  one  day's  match, 
the  Lord's  men  are  declared  the  winners,  they  having  scored  the 
most  in  the  first  innings. 

But  such  a  defeat  is  a  victory:  so  think  Tom  and  all  the  School 
eleven  as  they  accompany  their  conquerors  to  the  omnibus,  and 
send  them  off  with  three  ringing  cheers,  after  Mr.  Aislabie  has 
shaken  hands  all  round,  saying  to  Tom,  "I  must  compliment  you, 
sir,  on  your  eleven,  and  I  hope  we  shall  have  you  for  a  member 
if  you  come  up  to  town." 

As  Tom  and  the  rest  of  the  eleven  were  turning  back  into  the 
close,  and  everybody  was  beginning  to  cry  out  for  another  country- 
dance,  encouraged  by  the  success  of  the  night  before,  the  young 
master,  who  was  just  leaving  the  close,  stopped  him,  and  asked 
him  to  come  up  to  tea  at  half-past  eight,  adding,  "I  won't  keep 
you  more  than  half  an  hour,  and  ask  Arthur  to  come  up,  too." 

"I'll  come  up  with  you  directly,  if  you'll  let  me,"  said  Tom, 
"for  I  feel  rather  melancholy,  and  not  quite  up  to  the  country- 
dance  and  supper  with  the  rest." 

"Do,  by  all  means,"  said  the  master;  "I'll  wait  here  for  you." 

So  Tom  went  off  to  get  his  boots  and  things  from  the  tent,  to 
tell  Arthur  of  the  invitation,  and  to  speak  to  his  second  in  com- 
mand about  stopping  the  dancing  and  shutting  up  the  close  as 
soon  as  it  grew  dusk.  Arthur  promised  to  follow  as  soon  as  he 
had  had  a  dance.  So  Tom  handed  his  things  over  to  the  man  in 
charge  of  the  tent,  and  walked  quietly  away  to  the  gate  where  the 

[  355  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

master  was  waiting,  and  the  two  took  their  way  together  up  the 
Hillmorton  road. 

Of  course,  they  found  the  master's  house  locked  up,  and  all  the 
servants  away  in  the  close,  about  this  time,  no  doubt,  footing  it 
away  on  the  grass  with  extreme  delight  to  themselves  and  in 
utter  oblivion  of  the  unfortunate  bachelor  their  master,  whose  one 
enjoyment  in  the  shape  of  meals  was  his  "dish  of  tea"  (as  our 
grandmothers  called  it)  in  the  evening;  and  the  phrase  was  apt 
in  his  case,  for  he  always  poured  his  out  into  the  saucer  before 
drinking.  Great  was  the  good  man's  horror  at  finding  himself 
shut  out  of  his  own  house.  Had  he  been  alone,  he  would  have 
treated  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  would  have  strolled  con- 
tentedly up  and  down  his  gravel-walk  until  some  one  came  home; 
but  he  was  hurt  at  the  stain  on  his  character  of  host,  especially  as 
the  guest  was  a  pupil.  However,  the  guest  seemed  to  think  it  a 
great  joke,  and  presently,  as  they  poked  about  round  the  house, 
mounted  a  wall,  from  which  he  could  reach  a  passage  window. 
The  window,  as  it  turned  out,  was  not  bolted,  so  in  another  minute 
Tom  was  in  the  house  and  down  at  the  front-door,  which  he 
opened  from  inside.  The  master  chuckled  grimly  at  this  bur- 
glarious entry,  and  insisted  on  leaving  the  hall-door  and  two  of 
the  front  windows  open,  to  frighten  the  truants  on  their  return; 
and  then  the  two  set  about  foraging  for  tea,  in  which  operation 
the  master  was  much  at  fault,  having  the  faintest  possible  idea 
of  where  to  find  anything,  and  being,  moreover,  wondrously 
short-sighted;  but  Tom  by  a  sort  of  instinct  knew  the  right  cup- 
boards in  the  kitchen  and  pantry,  and  soon  managed  to  place  on 
the  snuggery  table  better  materials  for  a  meal  than  had  appeared 
there  probably  during  the  reign  of  his  tutor,  who  was  then  and 
there  initiated,  among  other  things,  into  the  excellence  ot  that 
mysterious  condiment,  a  dripping-cake.  The  cake  was  newly 
baked,  and  all  rich  and  flaky;  Tom  had  found  it  reposing  in  the 
cook's  private  cupboard,  awaiting  her  return;  and,  as  a  warning  to 
her,  they  finished  it  to  the  last  crumb.     The  kettle  sang  away 

[356] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

merrily  on  the  hob  of  the  snuggery,  for,  notwithstanding  the  time 
of  year,  they  hghted  a  fire,  throwing  both  the  windows  wide  open 
at  the  same  time.  The  heap  of  books  and  papers  was  pushed 
away  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and  the  great,  sohtary  engraving 
of  King's  College  Chapel  over  the  mantelpiece  looked  less  stiff 
than  usual  as  they  settled  themselves  down  in  the  twilight  to  the 
serious  drinking  of  tea. 

After  some  talk  on  the  match,  and  other  indifferent  subjects, 
the  conversation  came  naturally  back  to  Tom's  approaching  de- 
parture, over  which  he  began  again  to  make  his  moan. 

"Well,  we  shall  all  miss  you  quite  as  much  as  you  will  miss 
us,"  said  the  master.  "You  are  the  Nestor  of  the  school  now, 
are  you  not  ?" 

"Yes,  ever  since  East  left,"  answered  Tom. 

"By-the-bye,  have  you  heard  from  him  ?" 

"Yes,  I  had  a  letter  in  February,  just  before  he  started  for 
India  to  join  his  regiment." 

"He  will  make  a  capital  officer." 

"Ay,  won't  he!"  said  Tom,  brightening;  "no  fellow  could 
handle  boys  better,  and  I  suppose  soldiers  are  very  like  boys. 
And  he'll  never  tell  them  to  go  where  he  won't  go  himself.  No 
mistake  about  that — a  braver  fellow  never  walked." 

"His  year  in  the  sixth  will  have  taught  him  a  good  deal  that 
will  be  useful  to  him  now." 

"So  it  will,"  said  Tom,  staring  into  the  fire.  "Poor,  dear 
Harry,"  he  went  on,  "how  well  I  remember  the  day  we  were  put 
out  of  the  twenty.  How  he  rose  to  the  situation,  and  burned  his 
cigar-cases,  and  gave  away  his  pistols,  and  pondered  on  the  con- 
stitutional authority  of  the  sixth,  and  his  new  duties  to  the  Doctor, 
and  the  fifth  form,  and  the  fags.  Ay,  and  no  fellow  ever  acted 
up  to  them  better,  though  he  was  always  a  people's  man — for  the 
fags,  and  against  constituted  authorities.  He  couldn't  help  that, 
you  know.  I'm  sure  the  Doctor  must  have  liked  him  ?"  said 
Tom,  looking  up  inquiringly. 

[357] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

"The  Doctor  sees  the  good  in  every  one,  and  appreciates  it," 
said  the  master,  dogmatically;  "but  I  hope  East  will  get  a  good 
colonel.  He  won't  do  if  he  can't  respect  those  above  him.  How 
long  it  took  him,  even  here,  to  learn  the  lesson  of  obeying." 

"Well,  I  wish  I  were  alongside  of  him,"  said  Tom.  "  If  I  can't 
be  at  Rugby,  I  want  to  be  at  work  in  the  world,  and  not  dawdling 
away  three  years  at  Oxford." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'at  work  in  the  world' .?"  said  the  mas- 
ter, pausing,  with  his  lips  close  to  his  saucerful  of  tea,  and  peering 
at  Tom  over  it. 

"Well,  I  mean  real  work;  one's  profession;  whatever  one  will 
have  really  to  do  and  make  one's  living  by.  I  want  to  be  doing 
some  real  good,  feeling  that  I  am  not  only  at  play  in  the  world," 
answered  Tom,  rather  puzzled  to  find  out  himself  what  he  really 
did  mean. 

"You  are  mixing  up  two  very  different  things  in  your  head,  I 
think.  Brown,"  said  the  master,  putting  down  the  empty  saucer, 
"and  you  ought  to  get  clear  about  them.  You  talk  of  'working 
to  get  your  living'  and  'doing  some  real  good  in  the  world  '  in 
the  same  breath.  Now,  you  may  be  getting  a  very  good  living 
in  a  profession,  and  yet  doing  no  good  at  all  in  the  world,  but  quite 
the  contrary,  at  the  same  time.  Keep  the  latter  before  you  as 
your  only  object,  and  you  will  be  right,  whether  you  make  a  liv- 
ing or  not;  but  if  you  dwell  on  the  other,  you'll  very  likely  drop 
into  mere  money-making,  and  let  the  world  take  care  of  itself  for 
good  or  evil.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  about  finding  your  work  in 
the  world  for  yourself;  you  are  not  old  enough  to  judge  for  your- 
self yet,  but  just  look  about  you  in  the  place  you  find  yourself  in, 
and  try  to  make  things  a  little  better  and  honester  there.  You'll 
find  plenty  to  keep  your  hand  in  at  Oxford,  or  wherever  else  you 
go.  And  don't  be  led  away  to  think  this  part  of  the  world  im- 
portant, and  that  unimportant.  Every  corner  of  the  world  is 
important.  No  man  knows  whether  this  part  or  that  is  most  so, 
but  every  man  may  do  some  honest  work   in   his  own  corner." 

[358] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

And  then  the  good  man  went  on  to  talk  wisely  to  Tom  of  the  sort 
of  work  which  he  might  take  up  as  an  undergraduate;  and  warned 
him  of  the  prevalent  university  sins,  and  explained  to  him  the 
many  and  great  differences  between  university  and  school  life; 
till  the  twilight  changed  into  darkness,  and  they  heard  the  truant 
servants  stealing  in  by  the  back  entrance. 

"  1  wonder  where  Arthur  can  be  ?"  said  Tom,  at  last,  looking  at 
his  watch;  "why,  it's  nearly  half-past  nine  already." 

"Oh,  he  is  comfortably  at  supper  with  the  eleven,  forgetful  of 
his  oldest  friends,"  said  the  master.  "Nothing  has  given  me 
greater  pleasure,"  he  went  on,  "than  your  friendship  for  him;  it 
has  been  the  making  of  you  both." 

"Of  me,  at  any  rate,"  answered  Tom;  "I  should  never  have 
been  here  now  but  for  him.  It  was  the  luckiest  chance  in  the 
world  that  sent  him  to  Rugby  and  made  him  my  chum." 

"Why  do  you  talk  of  lucky  chances  ?"  said  the  master;  "1  don't 
know  that  there  are  any  such  things  in  the  world;  at  any  rate,  there 
was  neither  luck  nor  chance  in  that  matter." 

Tom  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  and  he  went  on.  "Do  you 
remember  when  the  Doctor  lectured  you  and  East  at  the  end  of 
one  half-year,  when  you  were  in  the  shell,  and  had  been  getting 
into  all  sorts  of  scrapes  ?" 

"Yes,  well  enough,"  said  Tom;  "it  was  the  half-year  before 
Arthur  came." 

"Exactly  so,"  answered  the  master.  "Now,  I  was  with  him 
a  few  minutes  afterward,  and  he  was  in  great  distress  about  you 
two.  And,  after  some  talk,  we  both  agreed  that  you  in  particular 
wanted  some  object  in  the  school  beyond  games  and  mischief; 
for  it  was  quite  clear  that  you  never  would  make  the  regular  school 
work  your  first  object.  And  so  the  Doctor,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  next  half-year,  looked  out  the  best  of  the  new  boys,  and  sepa- 
rated you  and  East,  and  put  the  young  boy  into  your  study,  in 
the  hope  that,  when  you  had  somebody  to  lean  on  you,  you  would 
begin  to  stand  a  little  steadier  yourself,  and  get  manliness  and 

[359] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

thoughtfulness.  And  1  can  assure  you  he  has  watched  the  ex- 
periment ever  since  with  great  satisfaction.  Ah!  not  one  of  you 
boys  will  ever  know  the  anxiety  you  have  given  him,  or  the  care 
with  which  he  has  watched  over  every  step  in  your  school 
lives." 

Up  to  this  time  Tom  had  never  wholly  given  in  to  or  under- 
stood the  Doctor.  At  first  he  had  thoroughly  feared  him.  For 
some  years,  as  I  have  tried  to  show,  he  had  learned  to  regard  him 
with  love  and  respect,  and  to  think  him  a  very  great  and  wise  and 
good  man.  But,  as  regarded  his  own  position  in  the  school,  of 
which  he  was  no  little  proud,  Tom  had  no  idea  of  giving  any  one 
credit  for  it  but  himself;  and,  truth  to  tell,  was  a  very  self-con- 
ceited young  gentleman  on  the  subject.  He  was  wont  to  boast 
that  he  had  fought  his  own  way  fairly  up  the  school,  and  had  never 
made  up  to,  or  been  taken  up  by,  any  big  fellow  or  master,  and 
that  it  was  now  quite  a  different  place  from  what  it  was  when  he 
first  came.  And,  indeed,  though  he  didn't  actually  boast  of  it, 
yet  in  his  secret  soul  he  did  to  a  great  extent  believe  that  the  great 
reform  in  the  school  had  been  owing  quite  as  much  to  himself  as 
to  any  one  else.  Arthur,  he  acknowledged,  had  done  him  good, 
and  taught  him  a  good  deal;  so  had  other  boys  in  different  ways, 
but  they  had  not  had  the  same  means  of  influence  on  the  school 
in  general;  and  as  for  the  Doctor,  why,  he  was  a  splendid  master, 
but  every  one  knew  that  masters  could  do  very  little  out  of  school 
hours.  In  short,  he  felt  on  terms  of  equality  with  his  chief,  so 
far  as  the  social  state  of  the  school  was  concerned,  and  thought 
that  the  Doctor  would  find  it  no  easy  matter  to  get  on  without 
him.  Moreover,  his  school  Toryism  was  still  strong,  and  he 
looked  still  with  some  jealousy  on  the  Doctor  as  somewhat  of  a 
fanatic  in  the  matter  of  change;  and  thought  it  very  desirable  for 
the  school  that  he  should  have  some  wise  person  (such  as  himself) 
to  look  sharply  after  vested  school-rights  and  see  that  nothing 
was  done  to  the  injury  of  the  republic  without  due  protest. 

It  was  a  new  light  to  him  to  find  that,  besides  teaching  the  sixth 

I360] 


TOM  WAS  BORNE  ALOFT  BY  THE  ELEVEN 


SCHOOL    DAYS 

and  governing  and  guiding  the  whole  school,  editing  classics  and 
writing  histories,  the  great  head-master  had  found  time  in  those 
busy  years  to  watch  over  the  career  even  of  him,  Tom  Brown, 
and  his  particular  friends — and,  no  doubt,  of  fifty  other  boys  at  the 
same  time;  and  all  this  without  taking  the  least  credit  to  himself, 
or  seeming  to  know,  or  let  any  one  else  know,  that  he  ever  thought 
particularly  of  any  boys  at  all. 

However,  the  Doctor's  victory  was  complete  from  that  moment 
over  Tom  Brown,  at  any  rate.  He  gave  way  at  all  points,  and 
the  enemy  marched  right  over  him,  cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery, 
the  land  transport  corps,  and  the  camp  followers.  It  had  taken 
eight  long  years  to  do  it,  but  now  it  was  done  thoroughly,  and 
there  wasn't  a  corner  of  him  left  which  didn't  believe  in  the  Doc- 
tor. Had  he  returned  to  school  again,  and  the  Doctor  begun  the 
half-year  by  abolishing  fagging  and  football  and  the  Saturday 
half-holiday,  or  all  or  any  of  the  most  cherished  school  institutions, 
Tom  would  have  supported  him  with  the  blindest  faith.  And  so, 
after  a  half-confession  of  his  previous  shortcomings,  and  sorrowful 
adieus  to  his  tutor,  from  whom  he  received  two  beautifully  bound 
volumes  of  the  Doctor's  Sermons,  as  a  parting  present,  he  marched 
down  to  the  School-house  a  hero  -  worshipper  who  would  have 
satisfied  the  soul  of  Thomas  Carlyle  himself. 

There  he  found  the  eleven  at  high  jinks  after  supper.  Jack 
Raggles  shouting  comic  songs  and  performing  feats  of  strength; 
and  was  greeted  by  a  chorus  of  mingled  remonstrance  at  his  de- 
sertion and  joy  at  his  reappearance.  And  falling  in  with  the  hu- 
mor of  the  evening,  he  was  soon  as  great  a  boy  as  all  the  rest;  and 
at  ten  o'clock  was  chaired  round  the  quadrangle,  on  one  of  the 
hall  benches,  borne  aloft  by  the  eleven,  shouting  in  chorus,  "For 
he's  a  jolly  good  fellow!"  while  old  Thomas,  in  a  melting  mood, 
and  the  other  School-house  servants,  stood  looking  on. 

And  the  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  he  squared  up  all  the 
cricketing  accounts,  Avent  round  to  his  tradesmen  and  other  ac- 
quaintance, and  said  his  hearty  good-byes,  and  by  twelve  o'clock 


TOM    BROWN'S 

was  in  the  train  and  away  for  London,  no  longer  a  school-boy, 
and  divided  in  his  thoughts  between  hero-worship,  honest  regrets 
over  the  long  stage  of  his  life  which  was  now  slipping  out  of  sight 
behind  him,  and  hopes  and  resolves  for  the  next  stage,  upon  which 
he  was  entering  with  all  the  confidence  of  a  young  traveller. 


SCHOOL   DAYS 


CHAPTER  IX 


FINIS 

'Strange  friend,  past,  present,  and  to  be; 

Loved  deeplier,  daiklier  understood; 

Behold,  I  dream  a  dream  of  good. 
And  mingle  all  the  world  with  thee." — Tennyson. 

N  the  summer  of  1842,  our  hero  stopped  once 
again  at  the  well-known  station;  and,  leaving 
his  bag  and  fishing-rod  with  a  porter,  walked 
slowly  and  sadly  up  toward  the  town.  It  was 
now  July.  He  had  rushed  away  from  Oxford 
the  moment  that  term  was  over,  for  a  fishing 
ramble  in  Scotland  with  two  college  friends, 
and  had  been  for  three  weeks  living  on  oatcake,  mutton-hams,  and 
whiskey,  in  the  wildest  parts  of  Skye.  They  had  descended  one 
sultry  evening  on  the  little  inn  at  Kyle  Rhea  ferry,  and  while  Tom 
and  another  of  the  party  put  their  tackle  together  and  began  ex- 

[365] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

ploring  the  stream  for  a  sea-trout  for  supper,  the  third  strolled 
into  the  house  to  arrange  for  their  entertainment.  Presently  he 
came  out  in  a  loose  blouse  and  slippers,  a  short  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
and  an  old  newspaper  in  his  hand,  and  threw  himself  on  the 
heathery  scrub  which  met  the  shingle,  within  easy  hail  of  the 
fishermen.  There  he  lay,  the  picture  of  free-and-easy,  loafing, 
hand-to-mouth  young  England,  "improving  his  mind,"  as  he 
shouted  to  them,  by  the  perusal  of  the  fortnight-old  weekly  paper, 
soiled  with  the  marks  of  toddy-glasses  and  tobacco-ashes,  the 
legacy  of  the  last  traveller,  which  he  had  hunted  out  from  the 
kitchen  of  the  little  hostelry;  and  being  a  youth  of  a  communicative 
turn  of  mind,  began  imparting  the  contents  to  the  fishermen  as 
he  went  on. 

"What  a  bother  they  are  making  about  these  wretched  Corn- 
laws;  here's  three  or  four  columns  full  of  nothing  but  sliding- 
scales  and  fixed  duties — hang  this  tobacco,  it's  always  going  out! 
— Ah,  here's  something  better — a  splendid  match  between  Kent 
and  England,  Brown!  Kent  winning  by  three  wickets.  Felix 
fifty-six  runs  without  a  chance,  and  not  out!" 

Tom,  intent  on  a  fish  which  had  risen  at  him  twice,  answered 
only  with  a  grunt. 

"Anything  about  the  Goodwood  .?"  called  out  the  third  man. 

"  Rory-o-More  drawn.    Butterfly  colt  amiss,"  shouted  the  student. 

"Just  my  luck,"  grumbled  the  inquirer,  jerking  his  flies  ofi"  the 
water,  and  throwing  again  with  a  heavy,  sullen  splash,  and  fright- 
ening Tom's  fish. 

"1  say,  can't  you  throw  lighter  over  there  ?  we  ain't  fishing  for 
grampuses,"  shouted  Tom,  across  the  stream. 

"Hullo,  Brown!  here's  something  for  you,"  called  out  the  read- 
ing man  next  moment.  "Why,  your  old  master,  Arnold,  of 
Rugby,  is  dead." 

Tom's  hand  stopped  half-way  in  his  cast,  and  his  line  and  flies 
went  all  tangling  round  and  round  his  rod;  you  might  have 
knocked  him  over  with  a  feather.     Neither  of  his  companions 

[366] 


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SCHOOL   DAYS 

took  any  notice  of  him,  luckily;  and  with  a  violent  effort  he  set  to 
work  mechanicall}'  to  disentangle  his  line.  He  felt  completely 
carried  off  his  moral  and  intellectual  legs,  as  if  he  had  lost  his 
standing-point  in  the  invisihle  world.  Besides  which,  the  deep, 
loving  loyalty  which  he  felt  for  his  old  leader  made  the  shock  in- 
tensely painful.  It  was  the  first  great  wrench  of  his  life,  the  first 
gap  which  the  angel  Death  had  made  in  his  circle,  and  he  felt 
numhed,  and  beaten  down,  and  spiritless.  Well,  well!  I  believe 
it  was  good  for  him  and  for  many  others  in  like  case;  who  had  to 
learn  by  that  loss,  that  the  soul  of  man  cannot  stand  or  lean  upon 
any  human  prop,  however  strong,  and  wise,  and  good;  but  that  He 
upon  whom  alone  it  can  stand  and  lean  will  knock  away  all  such 
props  in  His  own  wise  and  merciful  way,  until  there  is  no  ground 
or  stay  left  but  Himself,  the  Rock  of  Ages,  upon  whom  alone  a 
sure  foundation  for  every  soul  of  man  is  laid. 

As  he  wearily  labored  at  his  line,  the  thought  struck  him,  "  It 
may  all  be  false,  a  mere  newspaper  lie,"  and  he  strode  up  to  the 
recumbent  smoker. 

"Let  me  look  at  the  paper,"  said  he. 

"Nothing  else  in  it,"  answered  the  other,  handing  it  up  to  him, 
listlessly.  "Hullo,  Brown!  what's  the  matter,  old  fellow — ain't 
you  well  ?" 

"Where  is  it?"  said  Tom,  turning  over  the  leaves,  his  hands 
trembling,  and  his  eyes  swimming,  so  that  he  could  not  read. 

"What  ?  What  are  you  looking  for  ?"  said  his  friend,  jumping 
up  and  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

"That — about  Arnold,"  said  Tom. 

"Oh,  here,"  said  the  other,  putting  his  finger  on  the  paragraph. 

Tom  read  it  over  and  over  again;  there  could  be  no  mistake  of 
identity,  though  the  account  was  short  enough. 

"Thank  you,"  said  he  at  last,  dropping  the  paper.  "1  shall  go 
for  a  walk:  don't  you  and  Herbert  wait  supper  for  me."  And 
away  he  strode,  up  over  the  moor  at  the  back  of  the  house,  to  be 
alone,  and  master  his  grief,  if  possible. 

[  369  ] 


TOM   BROWN'S 

His  friend  looked  after  him,  sympathizing  and  wondering,  and, 
knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  walked  over  to  Herbert.  After 
a  short  parley,  they  walked  together  up  to  the  house. 

"I'm  afraid  that  confounded  newspaper  has  spoiled  Brown's 
fun  for  this  trip." 

"How  odd  that  he  should  be  so  fond  of  his  old  master,"  said 
Herbert.     Yet  they  also  were  both  public-school  men. 

The  two,  however,  notwithstanding  Tom's  prohibition,  waited 
supper  for  him,  and  had  everything  ready  when  he  came  back 
some  half  an  hour  afterward.  But  he  could  not  join  in  their 
cheerful  talk,  and  the  party  was  soon  silent,  notwithstanding  the 
efforts  of  all  three.  One  thing  only  had  Tom  resolved,  and 
that  was  that  he  couldn't  stay  in  Scotland  any  longer;  he 
felt  an  irresistible  longing  to  get  to  Rugby,  and  then  home, 
and  soon  broke  it  to  the  others,  who  had  too  much  tact  to 
oppose. 

So  by  daylight  the  next  morning  he  was  marching  through 
Ross-shire,  and  in  the  evening  hit  the  Caledonian  canal,  took  the 
next  steamer,  and  travelled  as  fast  as  boat  and  railway  could  carry 
him  to  the  Rugby  station. 

As  he  walked  up  to  the  town,  he  felt  shy  and  afraid  of  being 
seen,  and  took  the  back  streets;  why,  he  didn't  know,  but  he  fol- 
lowed his  instinct.  At  the  school-gates  he  made  a  dead  pause; 
there  was  not  a  soul  in  the  quadrangle — all  was  lonely,  and  silent, 
and  sad.  So  with  another  effort  he  strode  through  the  quad- 
rangle, and  into  the  School-house  offices. 

He  found  the  little  matron  in  her  room  in  deep  mourning;  shook 
her  hand,  tried  to  talk,  and  moved  nervously  about:  she  was  evi- 
dently thinking  of  the  same  subject  as  he,  but  he  couldn't  begin 

talking. 

"Where  shall  I  find  Thomas  ?"  said  he,  at  last,  getting  desperate. 

"In  the  servants'  hall,  I  think,  sir.  But  won't  you  take  any- 
thing ?"  said  the  matron,  looking  rather  disappointed. 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  and  he  strode  off  again  to  find  the 

[  370  1 


"YOU'VE   HEARD  ALL  ABOUT  IT,   I   SEE" 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

old  verger,  who  was  sitting  in  his  Httle  den  as  of  old,  puzzHng  over 
hierogI}'pliics. 

He  looked  up  through  his  spectacles,  as  Tom  seized  his  hand 
and  wrung  it. 

"Ah!  you've  heard  all  about  it,  sir,  I  see,"  said  he. 

Tom  nodded,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  shoe-board,  while  the 
old  man  told  his  tale,  and  wiped  his  spectacles,  and  fairly  flowed 
over  with  quaint,  homely,  honest  sorrow. 

By  the  time  he  had  done,  Tom  felt  much  better. 

"Where  is  he  buried,  Thomas  .?"  said  he,  at  last. 

"Under  the  altar  in  the  chapel,  sir,"  answered  Thomas.  "You'd 
like  to  have  the  key,  I  dare  say." 

"Thank  you,  Thomas — yes,  1  should,  very  much."  And  the 
old  man  fumbled  among  his  bunch,  and  then  got  up,  as  though 
he  would  go  with  him;  but  after  a  few  steps  stopped  short,  and 
said:  "  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  go  by  yourself,  sir  .?" 

Tom  nodded,  and  the  bunch  of  keys  was  handed  to  him,  with 
an  injunction  to  be  sure  and  lock  the  door  after  him,  and  bring 
them  back  before  eight  o'clock. 

He  walked  quickly  through  the  quadrangle  and  out  into  the 
close.  The  longing  which  had  been  upon  him  and  driven  him 
thus  far,  like  the  gad-fly  in  the  Greek  legends,  giving  him  no  rest 
in  mind  or  body,  seemed  all  of  a  sudden  not  to  be  satisfied,  but  to 
shrivel  up,  and  pall.  "Why  should  I  go  on.?  It's  no  use,"  he 
thought,  and  threw  himself  at  full  length  on  the  turf,  and  looked 
vaguely  and  listlessly  at  all  the  well-known  objects.  There  were 
a  few  of  the  town  boys  playing  cricket,  their  wicket  pitched  on  the 
best  piece  in  the  middle  of  the  big-side  ground,  a  sin  about  equal 
to  sacrilege  in  the  eyes  of  a  captain  of  the  eleven.  He  was  very 
nearly  getting  up  to  go  and  send  them  ofi^.  "Pshaw!  they  won't 
remember  me.  They've  more  right  there  than  1,"  he  muttered. 
And  the  thought  that  his  sceptre  had  departed,  and  his  mark  was 
wearing  out,  came  home  to  him  for  the  first  time,  and  bitterly 
enough.     He  was  lying  on  the  very  spot  where  the  fights  came  ofi^; 

[373] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

where  he  himself  had  fought  six  years  ago  his  first  and  last  battle. 
He  conjured  up  the  scene  till  he  could  almost  hear  the  shouts  of 
the  ring,  and  East's  whisper  in  his  ear;  and,  looking  across  the 
close  to  the  Doctor's  private  door,  half  expected  to  see  it  open, 
and  the  tall  figure  in  cap  and  gown  come  striding  under  the  elm- 
trees  toward  him. 

No,  no!  that  sight  could  never  be  seen  again.  There  was  no 
flag  flying  on  the  round  tower!  the  School-house  windows  were  all 
shuttered  up:  and  when  the  flag  went  up  again,  and  the  shutters 
came  down,  it  would  be  to  welcome  a  stranger.  All  that  was  left 
on  earth  of  him  whom  he  had  honored  was  lying  cold  and  still 
under  the  chapel  floor.  He  would  go  in  and  see  the  place  once 
more,  and  then  leave  it  once  for  all.  New  men  and  new  methods 
might  do  for  other  people;  let  those  who  would  worship  the  rising 
star;  he,  at  least,  would  be  faithful  to  the  sun  which  had  set.  And 
so  he  got  up  and  walked  to  the  chapel  door  and  unlocked  it,  fancy- 
ing himself  the  only  mourner  in  all  the  broad  land,  and  feeding 
on  his  own  selfish  sorrow. 

He  passed  through  the  vestibule,  and  then  paused  for  a  moment 
to  glance  over  the  empty  benches.  His  heart  was  still  proud  and 
high,  and  he  walked  up  to  the  seat  which  he  had  last  occupied  as 
a  sixth-form  boy,  and  sat  himself  down  there  to  collect  his  thoughts. 

And,  truth  to  tell,  they  needed  collecting  and  setting  in  order 
not  a  little.  The  memories  of  eight  years  were  all  dancing  through 
his  brain,  and  carrying  him  about  whither  they  would;  while,  be- 
neath them  all,  his  heart  was  throbbing  with  the  dull  sense  of  a 
loss  that  could  never  be  made  up  to  him.  The  rays  of  the  evening 
sun  came  solemnly  through  the  painted  windows  above  his  head, 
and  fell  in  gorgeous  colors  on  the  opposite  wall,  and  the  perfect 
stillness  soothed  his  spirit  by  little  and  little.  And  he  turned  to 
the  pulpit,  and  looked  at  it,  and  then,  leaning  forward  with  his 
head  on  his  hands,  groaned  aloud.  "If  he  could  only  have  seen 
the  Doctor  again  for  one  five  minutes;  have  told  him  all  that  was 
in  his  heart,  what  he  owed  to  him,  how  he  loved  and  reverenced 

[374] 


SCHOOL   DAYS 

him,  and  would,  by  God's  help,  follow  his  steps  in  life  and  death, 
he  could  have  borne  it  all  without  a  murmur.  But  that  he  should 
have  gone  away  forever  without  knowing  it  all,  was  too  much  to 
bear." — "But  am  I  sure  that  he  does  not  know  it  all.?" — the 
thought  made  him  start — "May  he  not  even  now  be  near  me,  in 
this  very  chapel  ?  If  he  be,  am  I  sorrowing  as  he  would  have  me 
sorrow — as  I  should  wish  to  have  sorrowed  when  I  shall  meet  him 
agam  : 

He  raised  himself  up  and  looked  round;  and  after  a  minute 
rose  and  walked  humbly  down  to  the  lowest  bench,  and  sat  down 
on  the  very  seat  which  he  had  occupied  on  his  first  Sunday  at 
Rugby.  And  then  the  old  memories  rushed  back  again,  but  soft- 
ened and  subdued,  and  soothing  him  as  he  let  himself  be  carried 
away  by  them.  And  he  looked  up  at  the  great  painted  window 
above  the  altar,  and  remembered  how,  when  a  little  boy,  he  used 
to  try  not  to  look  through  it  at  the  elm-trees  and  the  rooks,  before 
the  painted  glass  came — and  the  subscription  for  the  painted 
glass,  and  the  letter  he  wrote  home  for  money  to  give  to  it.  And 
there,  down  below,  was  the  very  name  of  the  boy  who  sat  on  his 
right  hand  on  that  first  day,  scratched  rudely  in  the  oak  panelling. 

And  then  came  the  thought  of  all  his  old  school-fellows;  and 
form  after  form  of  boys,  nobler,  and  braver,  and  purer  than  he, 
rose  up  and  seemed  to  rebuke  him.  Could  he  not  think  of  them, 
and  what  they  had  felt  and  were  feeling,  they  who  had  honored 
and  loved  from  the  first,  the  man  whom  he  had  taken  years  to 
know  and  love  ?  Could  he  not  think  of  those  yet  dearer  to  him 
who  was  gone,  who  bore  his  name  and  shared  his  blood,  and  were 
now  without  a  husband  or  a  father  ?  Then  the  grief  which  he 
began  to  share  with  others  became  gentle  and  holy,  and  he  rose 
up  once  more,  and  walked  up  the  steps  to  the  altar;  and  while  the 
tears  flowed  freely  down  his  cheeks,  knelt  down  humbly  and  hope- 
fully, to  lay  down  there  his  share  of  a  burden  which  had  proved 
Itself  too  heavy  for  him  to  bear  in  his  own  strength. 

Here  let  us  leave  him — where  better  could  we  leave  him  than 

[  375  ] 


TOM    BROWN'S 

at  the  altar,  before  which  he  had  first  caught  a  gHmpse  of  the  glory 
of  his  birthright,  and  felt  the  drawing  of  the  bond  which  Hnks  all 
living  souls  together  in  one  brotherhood — at  the  grave  beneath 
the  altar  of  him  who  had  opened  his  eyes  to  see  that  glory,  and 
softened  his  heart  till  it  could  feel  that  bond  ? 

And  let  us  not  be  hard  on  him,  if  at  that  moment  his  soul  is 
fuller  of  the  tomb  and  him  who  lies  there,  than  of  the  altar  and 
Him  of  whom  it  speaks.  Such  stages  have  to  be  gone  through, 
I  believe,  by  all  young  and  brave  souls,  who  must  win  their  way 
through  hero-worship,  to  the  worship  of  Him  who  is  the  King  and 
Lord  of  heroes.  For  it  is  only  through  our  mysterious  human 
relationships,  through  the  love  and  tenderness  and  purity  of 
mothers,  and  sisters,  and  wives,  through  the  strength  and  courage 
and  wisdom  of  fathers,  and  brothers,  and  teachers,  that  we  can 
come  to  the  knowledge  of  Him,  in  whom  alone  the  love,  and  the 
tenderness,  and  the  purity,  and  the  strength,  and  the  courage,  and 
the  wisdom  of  all  these  dwell  for  ever  and  ever  in  perfect  fulness. 


THE    END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 

1 

BEC'D  LD-URQ 

JUL  1  8 1988 

IIP! 


ID  URI 


^^^SJ*^ 


RENEWAL     p^pR  0  41989 


.•iJV  -J 


^ICDU^ 


^  JUL 


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4-.JJW-; 


UN  2  ^  1987 


Kf 


MAR  1  5  1988 


/1985 


^?R0  5 


DNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


iU 


3  1158  00997  5946 


lie  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  376  911     4 


